


2.11 E.T. Phone Rome, Part II

by MusicalLuna



Category: Psych
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Mystery, Virtual Season/Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-05
Updated: 2010-07-31
Packaged: 2019-03-17 16:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13662684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Virtual Season TwoSabotage on the set of It Came From Space to Conquer Rome has become murder and now Shawn is racing to figure out who done it before he becomes the next victim.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read Part I at <http://www.psychfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=1194>

Things only got more chaotic from there.

Shawn couldn't move. It probably had something to do with the crying woman lying on top of him and the fact that he couldn't seem to suck in a complete breath around the coughs crowding in his throat. Heat rolled out from the trailer in tremendous waves, washing little clouds of hot embers and thick black smoke over them. The sky looked like it was raining fire.

His eyes watered, leaking onto his cheeks, and he could practically feel the ends of his hair singeing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hairspray can grow to twice its size and he turned away, covering Eliza's head with his own body, just before it burst. Small bits of hot metal rained down on them and he flinched as he felt one shard hit him in the back of the neck. The inferno roared and crackled, deafening him, punctuated by the loud bangs of exploding cans of hairspray.

Dazedly noting that it seemed to be getting unbearably hot, he was concluding that maybe they should move when hands wrapped around his arms and grabbed hold of Eliza. Shawn suddenly realized that the yelling he'd been distantly registering now seemed a lot louder. The hands dug into his armpits and pinched the skin of his arms, but after what felt like a mile, the heat began to fade and the yelling got clearer.

"Oh my god, Eliza!"

"Are you two all right? Will one of you answer me, dammit?"

"SHAWN!"

"What happened? Is he okay? Is Eliza?"

His head was spinning, which wasn't helped by the people moving in and out around him, practically pulsing. His eyelids kept sticking to the surface of his eyes, making it hard to focus on the surrounding crowd, hard to blink. His chest burned, heat scorching his throat and coughs tearing through him, unstoppable.

"Where the hell is Josh!?"

"Tip his head back! He can't breathe coughing like that!"

Shawn couldn't match the voices to faces—couldn't see faces, not really—everything was a confusing blur, moving too fast. He could feel hands on him, moving him, supporting him and he just hoped they were helping hands.

Someone reached forward and did as the voice demanded, gently tipping his head back with a little pressure on his chin and he grimaced as he felt the skin over his throat stretch taut. Every inch of him felt as though it had been shrunken by at least a size; he no longer fit in his own skin. Having his head back did help his breathing a little, though it didn't stop the hacking coughs.

"SHAWN! Get out of my way!"

Shawn blinked. That voice, he recognized. That voice he knew.

A second later Gus dropped to the ground beside him, expression freaked out and intense all at once. "Shawn? Are you all right?"

He coughed into the sleeve of his shirt and grimaced at the phlegmy goo it produced. "I'm f—freezing," he said and realized he was shivering like he'd just been plunged into an ice water bath. No wonder Gus was looking freaked.

"It's the radical change in temperature," he muttered absently. "Throws off your body…" Shawn rolled his eyes, or at least tried to, before they stuck in his sockets again. Gus calmed down a little as he took the opportunity to give Shawn the once over, then the twice over and then—

"Dude, stop eyeballing me like a cut of meat," Shawn got out between coughs. If anything, the worry lines on Gus' face deepened at the sound of Shawn hacking up his lungs. "Where's Eliza? Is she all right?"

Gus scowled, but looked relieved nonetheless. "You're an idiot, Shawn. Are you completely insane?"

Shawn sat up, dabbing at his nose with the back of his hand, surprised when it came away unbloodied. It still felt like it was on fire, the skin inside stretched tight the way it usually was before he got a nosebleed. He grimaced. "Not completely."

Gus punched him.

"Ow! Dude! I just ran into a burning tent, could you hold off on the abuse for at least another fifteen minutes?" He dissolved into the deep chesty coughs again, still shivering fiercely. Well, this was annoying.

"Excuse me, excuse me. Out of the way, please." The two set medics appeared from the crowd, rolling a gurney stacked with equipment between them. "Who's hurt?" the dark haired one at the front said.

"Josh, finally," Samantha said and Shawn glanced over his shoulder to see her crouching near a quivering Eliza.

"Him, he is," Gus said and he turned back around, shooting his best friend a dirty look.

"I am not, I'm—" Shawn broke into coughs again.

"Uh huh," Gus said.

There was some rustling and noise in the crowd surrounding them and a moment later Drew appeared. "The fire department and the police are on their way, Sam."

She nodded wearily in return. "Good."

The dark haired medic knelt down beside Gus, nodding at Shawn in a reassuring manner. "I'm Josh. I'm going to put an oxygen mask on you to make sure you're getting the oxygen you need, all right?"

Shawn opened his mouth to reply and at Gus' glare, merely nodded. The medic nodded back and then reached for an oxygen tank, pulling it closer and unwinding the attached mask. Shawn grimaced as he slipped it over his head and fixed it in place.

"That all right?" Josh asked.

"Fine," Shawn said and received another nod in return.

"Let's get you on a gurney," Josh said and, looking to Gus for assistance, put his arm around Shawn's back. The two men lifted him carefully to his feet—on legs were far unsteadier than Shawn thought they had any right to be—and helped him find a seat on one of the nearby stretchers. The movement got him coughing again, which was made doubly uncomfortable by the oxygen mask.

"What is wrong with you?" Gus demanded again as Josh began examining him for further injuries. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, 'Oh no, that burning fiery tent is about to collapse. Eliza's still beneath it. That's bad,'" Shawn said, voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

"You're an idiot," Gus said peevishly.

"So you've said," Shawn said and winced as Josh turned his arm, revealing the scrape from his previous rescue, which was bleeding anew. "Ow," he commented.

Josh looked up. "It's just minor. We'll clean it and bandage it up and it'll be fine."

"You could have just yelled, 'Get out of there!' like a normal person, Shawn," Gus went on, clearly annoyed. "You didn't have to go running into the fire."

"She didn't exactly look like she was thinking clearly, Gus," Shawn told him and hissed softly as Josh began carefully cleaning the wound on his arm. "I just reacted, okay? I'm fine." He looked to Josh. "Tell him I'm fine."

"He'll be fine," Josh said, placing a swatch of gauze over the scrape.

Before Shawn could say anything, Gus said, "'Be fine' is not the same as 'fine', Shawn." A pang rippled through Shawn's gut at the look in Gus' eyes and he glanced away, hand curling around the thin sheet covering the gurney.

"Gus—"

"There he is!" a voice shouted. "Mr. Spencer!"

Looking up out of reflex, Shawn was nearly blinded as a flash went off mere feet from his face. "Dude, what the—"

"Hey!" Josh exclaimed, face twisting in a frown, "What do you think you're doing? Back off!"

The throng of reporters ignored him, eagerly pushing in toward Shawn, waving microphones and setting off flashes like mini lightning bolts. "Mr. Spencer, how does it feel to be a hero, yet again?" one of them demanded.

Shawn tried to choke down a grin at the thunderous look on Gus' face and said with faux modesty, "I just did what any other good Samaritan would have done."

A pair of arms looped around his neck and he suddenly found himself cheek to cheek with Eliza herself, everything around him giving a little twirl at the abrupt movement. "I don't know what I would have done if Shawn hadn't been there to pull me out of the fire," she gushed. "I completely froze up and he dove in after me without a single thought for himself. Shawn is amazing."

Shawn shrugged, trying not to grin too broadly. "I'm just doing my part as… a…" He trailed off as Eliza tugged down the oxygen mask covering his mouth, eyes widening when she leaned forward and kissed him soundly on the mouth. The reporters went wild. She pulled back after just a second, sliding the mask back into place with a dazzling smile.

"I'm eternally grateful."

"What are you doing in here?" Samantha demanded, suddenly beside them. "I made it explicitly clear that you were not permitted to pass the boundaries of the set! You're trespassing!"

The reporters suddenly looked uncomfortable, shifting backwards. "We heard the explosion—rumors that there's a body," one of them said, trying to distract her. The paramedic who had been previously examining Eliza put a hand on her shoulder.

"Miss Carlisle. Please, I need to make sure you're not injured."

"I don't care what you heard!" Samantha retorted peevishly. "You're overstepping the borders of the set and I want you out of here now!"

"But Miss Melin—"

The rest of the reporter's protests were drowned out by the sound of Shawn's own hacking coughs. His chest hurt again and Gabe, screaming in the background, demanding to know what the hell had happened and bemoaning the fate of his movie, wasn't helping the faint throb that had started in his temples. There was too much going on.

"Shawn?" Gus said and his anxiety was palpable.

"I'm all right," he said, but spotted Syd pushing his way through the crowd, chest and hands iridescent and sparkling and he blinked, scrubbing his dry eyes, and wondered if he was hallucinating now. "Dude, what is this, _Twilight?_ " he rasped and waved a hand in Syd's direction. "Eliza's PA is sparkly."

Gus glanced in the direction he'd pointed and shook his head. "You didn't even read the books, Shawn."

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he retorted, "Vampires who sparkle Gus? Why would I read that?"

"You never appreciated good writing," Gus muttered.

"Are you feeling all right, Shawn?" Josh asked and his face was too close. Shawn backed away, waving his hand.

"I'm fine." Turning back to Gus, he said, "Because to appreciate it, I'd have to actually read it and that takes too long, Gus. I would rather do fun things, like have snail races or fill my dad's yard with garden gnomes cloaked in black with little word bubbles full of cryptic messages about his perfect lawn that I spent so much time on as a kid—"

"Shut up, Shawn," Gus said, sulking.

"You never let me finish," Shawn protested, voice whiny.

"You never run out of breath," Gus shot back.

Shawn shrugged. "It's a gift."

"Or a curse where I'm concerned," Gus muttered.

Behind them, Shawn could hear Syd fretting over Eliza. "…I'm so sorry, Miss Carlisle. I should have been here. Are you all right?"

"Go get me some water, Syd," she told him shortly and Shawn almost felt bad for the guy. She just wanted him gone.

There was an uncertain pause as Syd debated whether or not this was what she really wanted.

"Are you deaf?" she snapped and that decided it.

"I—okay," he said, defeated, and Shawn caught a glimpse of his back slipping into the crowd. Then Eliza was on his gurney again, leaning into his back.

"I can't believe you saved me again, Shawn," she purred.

He slipped out of her grasp as carefully as he could. "We've gotta stop meeting like this," he said, forcing a laugh. Her mouth was curling into a flirtatious grin when he caught Josh saying a word that always got his radar up.

"…definitely take them in to the hospital. Just to get checked."

"The hospital is overkill, don't you think?" he protested.

Gus gave him a look. "Shawn, you sound like the Christian Bale version of Batman."

Shawn grimaced. "Really? It's that bad?"

"Oh my god, Shawn!"

He looked up, surprised at the sound of Juliet's voice. "Jules."

She pushed forward through the crowd, her partner following behind her looking as though he'd just swallowed a mouthful of antifreeze. "What happened? We got the call that there was an explosion and a body and—oh my god, Eliza Carlisle!" She skirted around the end of his gurney, leaving him gawking after her. "I love your work!" she exclaimed.

Eliza straightened a little, brushing back her hair. "Oh you do?" she said.

Shawn's mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times. "Jules…wounded psychic here."

"I should have known you two would be right in the middle of this," Lassiter said as he approached. His eyes swung around toward them and his eyes widened a fraction before he threw his arms up to block his eyes. "Dear God, why are you wearing skirts?! That's not something I ever wanted to see!"

"For your information, these are tunics," Gus said with a superior expression.

"Yeah, Lassie," Shawn said, coughing. "Tunics."

"I don't care what the hell you call them. It's disturbing on all levels." Lassiter extended a hand to block out the bits that he didn't want to see and Shawn and Gus snorted with laughter.

"Seriously. Man-up, Lassie. They're not that bad."

"Says the man wearing a _skirt_ ," Lassiter retorted. Shooting a suspicious look at Shawn he said, "What the hell happened to you anyway, Spencer?"

Shawn smiled and then grimaced as a series of coughs brought more phlegmy gook up into his throat. His abs were starting to ache from the spastic coughing, and Gus took it upon himself to start patting him on the back. The caring act of friendship quickly degenerated into a new way of delivering abuse, as each successive pat landed harder than the last until Shawn could feel his heart stalling with each blow. Shawn knocked Gus' hand away and waited for another pause between coughs to say, "I saved a woman's life—again."

"Oh great," Lassiter muttered.

Around them, the crowd finally began to thin out as Buzz and several other officers Shawn recognized but didn't quite remember the names of began to clear out the bystanders to give CSI and the coroner room to work.

Shawn smirked as one of the officers leaned over to his nearby comrade, whispering excitedly, "I can't believe we're actually on set!"

Lassiter had obviously heard the exchange as well because he whirled around snapping, "You have a job to be doing, so do it, dammit!"

While Lassiter was busy brow-beating his subordinates, Josh had reappeared from wherever he had disappeared to, trailing emergency medical workers in his wake. "These guys are going to transport you to the hospital," he said, gesturing. Shawn immediately scowled.

"Dude, that is definitely overkill. Look at me! Do I look like I need to go for a doctor's visit?"

"Depends on the kind of doctor," Lassiter muttered, his attention diverted back to Shawn and his unraveling medical drama. Shawn spared him a half-hearted glare before turning his energies back to convincing everyone around him that he was doing Just Fine, Thank You Very Much.

"Really," Shawn insisted. "I'll just go home, drink some fluids, be back to good in –" before he could finish the sentence, he broke into hacking coughs. Too tired to brace his body against the internal convulsions, Shawn's seized up completely. The latest coughing session lasted for several long minutes, ending finally with Shawn exhausted and gasping for breath.

"Yeah, you're the picture of health," Gus said, voice sarcastic, yet with worry edging into its tone.

"You should really go to the hospital," Juliet said. She was apparently taking a break from gushing over Eliza's 'amazing talent and skill' to widen her already huge blue eyes at Shawn, beseeching.

Not one to be outdone, Eliza immediately began to coo, " Yes, only the best care for my rescuer." Her voice was sugary, syrupy, sweet – enough to make Shawn gag, in other words, if he weren't already choking on air.

Shawn didn't appreciate being ganged up against. He was about to make his displeasure known, as soon as he could articulate himself with falling into yet another coughing fit, when Lassiter of all people let out an impatient growl and physically hauled him to his feet. Despite the suddenness of the movement, Lassiter's grip was gentle – too firm to wiggle out of, but not tight enough to bruise. "Where's your ambulance?" Lassiter asked the newcomer medics, and followed them as they led the way.

"Hey!" Shawn yelped. "Let go of me!" His voice came out raspy and strangled, but he didn't care. He kept up with the protests, saying, "Abduction! Abuse! Absconding with my person! Other words that start with A –" but couldn't keep up the litany before his cough returned.

Lassiter made an audible noise of annoyance. He had many such noises in his repertoire. But he changed his grip on Shawn in order to support him better as he coughed, even as he continued the steady march forward.

Gus, Juliet, and Eliza watched, blinking and dumbstruck, as Lassiter half-carried, half-shoved Shawn into the back of a waiting ambulance. "Why didn't I think of that?" Gus muttered to himself, before quickly getting out his car keys and readying himself to follow the EMT to the hospital. Someone would need to be there to hear the doctor's prognosis, after all – someone not Shawn – someone who would actually understand the importance of following doctor's orders. As usual, that someone was going to be him.

~*~

As they drove home from the hospital later that day, Gus glanced at Shawn out of the corner of his eye, watching as he coughed, slouched in the passenger's seat. "You need to listen to the doctor, Shawn. He told you to take it easy, so do it, okay?"

Shawn's entire head rolled instead of just his eyes, a clear indication that he was tired. "Yes, Mama Burton."

"Shawn, if you want to go back to the set tomorrow, you'll do what he said," Gus said.

"Speaking of the set," Shawn said, eyes closed. "What the hell is going on down there?"

"Obviously someone's trying to kill Eliza."

"Gee, thanks for that input, Gus, I never would have come up with that on my own," Shawn muttered.

"Hey, don't take it out on me just because you decided to act like an idiot and go running into a fire." He shook his head as he glanced into the rearview mirror. "This is getting really out of hand. I have to post in my blog again, soon."

Shawn's eyes popped open. "What? Gus! I could have died and you're thinking about your blog?" He dissolved into a fit of coughs.

Gus turned on him, his expression fierce. "Don't belittle my feelings Shawn! I thought that tent was going to fall on you!"

Shawn swallowed, shifting in his seat, his lips pursing. After a moment of silence (besides his constant throat clearing) he said, "Okay, so we have to figure this out." He glanced at his watch and shook his head, "Dad should have totally called by now. There was an explosion on the beach! What is going on with him?"

"Maybe he's been busy," Gus suggested.

"Busy with what? He only does like, three things, and two of them involve watching the news. I should have gotten a call from him ranting about, 'What are you into?' 'Explosions aren't something you should mess with, kid' or whatever. He always knows this stuff. It's creepy."

Gus just shook his head as Shawn fished his phone out of his pocket.

The phone rang twice before being picked up. "Hel—"

"Dad, I almost got blown up today."

His father heaved a sigh. "Shawn, I don't have time for this."

"But Dad, I almost died!" The coughing fit he broke into was only marginally on purpose.

"Of course you did," Henry said, but it was obvious he was distracted and totally not buying it. "You can fake sick better than that, kid."

"No, really, there was an explosion and a trailer caught fire and I saved the lead actress from certain fiery doom!"

Henry snorted out a laugh. "Are you and Gus coming from the movies or something? Shawn, you know better than to try and convince me of some cockamamie story like that. You'd never risk your ass like that."

"Dad! I'm serious! I singed my tunic and—is that a woman talking? Who's there?" he demanded, voice high and raspy, shifting higher in the seat at the faint sound of a woman calling his dad's name..

He could practically hear the roll of his eyes over the phone. "Shawn, we can talk about your delusional fantasies another time, I gotta go."

"Dad—"

Click.

Shawn gawked at the phone, his stomach lurching. Oh god.

Gus glanced over at him, wary. "Maybe it's not what you think."

Slowly, Shawn sank back down into the seat.

~*~

When they arrived at the station, the entire SBPD was gathered in the bullpen, cheering and applauding wildly.

Shawn and Gus stopped at the back of the crowd, Shawn straining his neck in an attempt to get a look at what the cheering officers were gathered around. "Dude, what is the deal? Every couple of months we come in here and it's like they just watched their team make the winning touchdown at the super bowl."

"This is a very supportive work environment, Shawn," Gus said, watching the cheering officers with a look of approval that, frankly, just disgusted Shawn.

Trying to suppress his gag reflex, Shawn said, "Our work environment is totally supportive."

Gus snorted in response. "Sure, if by 'supportive' you mean 'subversive and demeaning'."

"Gus, I'm offended that you think so little of the environment I provide you." His eyes swept over the crowd, the back of his hand coming up to cover his mouth as soft coughs started bubbling up from his chest.

Eyes flicking away from the raucously congratulatory group, Gus said, "You _provide_ me stress."

Shawn shook his head, but instead of dignifying that with a response, he waved a hand in the face of the nearest officer. "Dude, who're the accolades for?"

"Detective O'Hara and Detective Lassiter!" the young officer gushed. "They took down the entire drug ring!"

Shawn shook his head slightly continuing to clear his phlegm-coated throat. "Those two seriously need to share the spotlight." Gus' eyebrows rose in agreement. It didn't escape either man's notice that Juliet's name had come first.

"Come on," Shawn said. "This vantage point is terrible." He pushed into the crowd of blue-clad bodies and Gus followed behind him, coasting through in his wake.

Clapping as he broke through the other side, Shawn was surprised to see Juliet at the center of it all, flapping her hands modestly and saying 'thank you's and 'it was for all of us's that sounded eerily similar to Lassiter's post-triumph posturing. Sometimes it gave him the creeps how much rubbed off between the two of them.

Juliet beamed at him, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Shawn, Gus, hi!" Then she lowered her voice and creased her eyebrows. The cheering faded into the usual station chatter. "Shawn, how're you feeling?"

"Hey Jules, doing better," Shawn said, his voice still raspy. He coughed a little and tilted his head downward so as to better utilize the suffering-psychic bit. "So you got the drug ring. Congratulations."

"Thanks," she said, flushing with pride. "It was a team effort, but you know."

"Yeah," Shawn said and leaned to the left, peering around her. "Where's Lassie? Usually he's totally lapping this stuff up."

"I know, I'm not sure where he disappeared to," Juliet said thoughtfully, glancing around the bullpen.

"I'm right here," Lassiter said, materializing out of a dark corner. All three of them jumped.

"Dude, Lassie. Who are you, the Shadow?" Shawn asked, the surprising entrance setting him off on a mild coughing fit.

"Have you been there the entire time?" Juliet asked, staring at him.

"Yes," Lassiter muttered, sliding into his desk chair.

She frowned, concern sweeping onto her face. "Carlton, what were you—"

Lassiter's teeth grit and Shawn got the distinct impression that if he answered that particular query, there would be trouble.

"Hey, Jules!" he broke in. "Gus and I just swang by to see if the M.E. had come back with the autopsy results yet. Did we find out what killed Fern?"

"It's Vern, Shawn," Gus said peevishly.

"That's what I said," Shawn said, unruffled.

"No, it isn't. You said—"

Shawn jabbed him in the side with an elbow and Gus retaliated with a sharp smack. The two of them dissolved into a painful-looking slap fight, Shawn’s coughing growing exponentially with the action.

"Yes," Juliet said loudly and they immediately dropped arms, regarding her with their best thoughtful and dignified expressions. Shawn tried and failed to muffle several coughs.

"Oh?" he finally choked out.

Giving them both a look, Juliet said, "Yes. The M.E. says that the cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Shawn said, rocking back on his heels, expression haughty.

Juliet looked up at him, newly interested. "Why? Do you have something?"

Shawn paused for a moment, considering, and then shook his head. "No. But it sounded good, didn't it?"

Juliet rolled her eyes and turned back around, grabbing a large wad of papers off of her desk. Shawn leaned forward as one of the papers beneath caught his attention.

It was a tox report, and apparently the make-up in the trailer had been tampered with. His eyebrows rose and he rocked back on his heels again, cogs whirring in his brain.

Now that was interesting.

~ * ~

"Dude, that thing—is awesome," Shawn said, staring as a neon green miniature helicopter was unloaded out of a truck. The coughing was still present today, but with far less force and regularity. His lungs seemed to be mostly over their brush with the smoke.

"It's a chopper cam, Shawn," Gus said, but he was eyeing the camera with a similar look of excitement, fingers curling and uncurling. "It's for filming."

Shawn shot him an annoyed look. "Obviously Gus. I've been on a set before. I do know what some of this stuff does."

"Coulda fooled me," Gus muttered.

The chopper cam technician stood back when the little helicopter had been settled onto a plywood board on the set and began flipping switches on the enormous control pad. Shawn and Gus gawked as the blades on top began to spin. A moment later it lifted off and Shawn clapped his hands, jabbing a finger at the helicopter. "That is SO awesome!"

The assistant director breezed past them, calling, "Is this where you two are supposed to be?"

"Oh, yeah! Totally!" Shawn called back over his shoulder, eyes still focused on the helicopter now zipping around overhead. "We're here so he can—you know—test."

Shawn kept half an ear open, expecting the AD to order them back to extras holding, but instead, he heard the man call, "Gabe, the chopper guy is ready. He's just doing a few final tests and then he'll be ready for filming. That means we've got five minutes to get everybody together."

"You're sure everything is in place?"

"Gabe—" Shawn’s curiosity was piqued when the AD’s reply seemed to indicate that Gabe wasn’t speaking to him.

"No, I've got a way to get rid of her, don't worry."

Shawn's eyebrows rose at that and he turned to see Gabe scowling at the assistant director, as he said into the phone, "Yes. All right. I've got it. Thank you."

"Sir—"

"I heard you the first time Ryan. Why aren't you telling everybody else?" Gabe snapped, flipping his phone shut with a snap.

The AD's mouth tightened but he nodded and he hurried off, jamming down the button on his radio. Shawn turned casually back toward the helicopter above them, nudging Gus with his elbow.

"What?" Gus said, eyes still reverently tracking the progress of the copter across the sky.

"Dude, I think I may have just figured out who could be behind all of the sabotage on set," he said quietly.

Gus tore his eyes away from the helicopter to raise his eyebrows at Shawn. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. And I think we need to have a little get-together with the primary players, see if I can get a psychic reading."

Gus gave him a look. "You mean you want to get back up and confront the bad guy in front of everybody, just in case you turn out to be right and they try to take you out for ruining their nefarious plans."

Shawn pursed his lips. "Dude, it doesn't sound nearly as awesome when you put it like that."

"Most things don't when they're not in Shawnglish."

"Are you saying I make everything cooler?" Shawn said, perking up.

Giving him a deadpan look, Gus said, "No, Shawn, I'm saying you embellish so as to make stupid and/or boring things sound exciting when they're really not. I'm saying you're a big, fat liar."

Shawn put a hand over his heart, gasping softly. "Gus. That hurts me."

"You actually need feelings for them to be hurt, Shawn," Gus said and turned back toward basecamp. "Come on, we need to get to the food tent before all the good coffee is gone."

"You know that's right," Shawn said. They bumped fists and the little neon green helicopter zoomed low overhead, its dark shadow tracking their progress.

~ * ~

"I want to thank you all for coming," Shawn said, arms held out graciously as he turned in a neat little half-circle to survey the group he'd gathered together. They all stood at the edge of the lighted portion of the beach, looking equal parts exasperated and curious. Juliet had finally managed to calm down after her initial encounter with Eliza, but every so often her eyes slipped to her left, a smile creeping onto her face as she looked at the movie's star. Lassiter looked more annoyed than ever, the darkness from the beach seeming to creep up around him to hover at his shoulders. Gabe was flipping through his script, feet shuffling constantly, obviously impatient. It wasn't rapt attention, but it was a start.

"What are you wearing, Shawn?" Juliet asked, eyes raking critically over his figure.

Shawn glanced down, giving the glittery roman gladiator costume he was wearing a once over before looking up at her, clueless. "Not sure I see what you're asking, Jules."

"I think he looks marvelous," Eliza purred. She licked her lips and Shawn shifted uncomfortably, pulling the glittering red cape around to block her view of his body. The come-ons were starting to seriously creep him out.

"How the hell did you get that costume? You're not supposed to be wearing that," Gabe demanded, small eyebrows furrowing into his forehead. "Irene and I are going to have to have a talk about the security of the costumes…" he muttered, glowering at Shawn. His eyes flicked over to Gus and his expression melted into a softer, more thoughtful expression. "If anybody should be wearing that costume, it should be him. Those calves are perfect…"

All of Shawn's pretenses dropped. He threw up his hands. "Seriously! What is it with you people and his calves?! They're not that amazing. Mine are quite nicely sculpted, I'll have you know! Look at these babies!" Thrusting out a leg, he swiveled it back and forth, trying to display his calf at the best possible angle.

He glanced to Lassiter and Juliet for confirmation and merely received two 'Ehhh, no.' looks in response.

"This is a conspiracy," Shawn grumbled unhappily.

"Shawn," Juliet said. "Focus. What are we doing here?"

Sighing heavily, Shawn pushed back the cape and waved an arm at them all with less than his usual enthusiasm. "I brought you all together here tonight because I have reason to believe that something really, really bad is going on here."

"Gee," Lassiter drawled, "you figured that out all by yourself?"

He was ignored, Shawn pausing to look at each of them in turn—for drama, of course. "I am eighty-five to ninety-six percent sure someone is trying to kill Eliza."

A long moment of silence passed, Shawn carefully watching the diminutive, balding director for a reaction. He just proceeded to look more annoyed and impatient, round face turning red.

Finally, Lassiter's eyes rolled, his arms crossing over his chest. "Spencer, you'd have to be a complete moron not to suspect that by now. She's been nearly killed, what, three, four times now?"

Shawn lifted a finger, "Ah, but before we just thought it was an accident." He paused, head tipping to the side and amended, "Well, I didn't. But still."

"Please tell me you have more than 'someone is trying to kill Eliza'," Juliet said. "I was on my way home to feed my cats."

Gabe scowled at Shawn. "This is a waste of time. I have a movie I'm already almost a week behind on, so if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to it."

Juliet leveled a stern look at Shawn. "Do you have any concrete evidence? Any suspects?"

Shawn floundered, his mouth working silently for a moment. "I—well—not exactly."

"Perfect," Lassiter muttered.

"Ryan," Gabe barked into his radio, "Get everyone set up, scene sixty-three in five minutes." He strode off, flip-flops kicking up sand as he walked. "And get that costume back to Irene!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Juliet sighed and said, "Call us when you have something more, Shawn."

"Better yet, don't call us at all," Lassiter said nastily and the two detectives headed off across the set, Juliet picking her way carefully through the sand in her high heels.

"Well that was a big success," Gus said mildly. "I take it you didn't get anything."

Shawn made a face, crossing his arms across his chest. "Gabe didn't react, no. I still think he has something to do with it."

"Well, you'll have to figure it out later unless you want to get fired. You need to get that thing you're wearing back to the costume trailer and get changed before the scene starts—we're in sixty-two. And you have—" He glanced at his watch. "Four minutes and eleven seconds to do it."

Shawn fluttered his hand dismissively. "They never start when they say they're going to. I've got time."

Gus snorted and shook his head, obviously thinking, _It's your funeral_.

"Get that thing up in the air! I want it ready the second everyone is on set!" Gabe shouted. Shawn pursed his lips, glancing at Gus out of the corner of his eye.

"Maybe I should hurry."

Gus nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

"Man," Shawn whined, but he broke into a jog, cutting directly across the set in an effort to cut his travel time in half. Gabe continued shouting orders and demands at anyone within a few feet, obviously peeved about the delays and hell-bent on getting something done. Actors were already seeping onto the set, finding their places and skimming scripts for last minute line-memorization. The miniature helicopter started to whirr as its blades got going and it lifted slowly off of the plywood board, it's controller off to the side grumbling and shooting poisonous looks in Gabe's direction.

"What the hell are you wearing, Spencer?" Drew demanded incredulously. The group of extras he'd been herding toward the set continued on without him, chattering amongst one another. "You have to be on set in two minutes! Are you insane!?"

"Dude, I'm on my way," Shawn said, "Don't worry, I'll be here in…"

He trailed off, head tilting to the side as the yelling from the forming scene behind him changed tenors. "Sorry, sorry!" someone yelped frantically.

" _Crap!_ " another, deeper voice yelled and then: "Get off, get off— _crap!_ LOOK OUT!"

Someone screamed and Shawn turned just in time to see the chopper cam take a sharp nosedive, plummeting straight for him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Nearly killed by a miniature helicopter, Shawn. A miniature helicopter!" Gus ranted, as he had been doing for the last two hours. Shawn sat on the exam table on the far side of the room in just his jeans and tennis shoes with an older male doctor bent over his left arm, needle and thread in hand as Gus stood nearby with arms crossed, eyes deliberately averted. "I swear, these things only happen around you."

Shawn let his best friend’s voice wash over him like white noise. After the first five minutes, Gus’ rant had proceeded into a loop that had yet to be interrupted and right now, the eerie feeling of the needle sliding painlessly in and out of his skin was a lot more interesting. And "nearly killed" wasn’t a wholly accurate description of what had happened. The little helicopter had certainly done a number on him, rotor blades leaving at least half a dozen thin lacerations across his face, which moved and stung with every wince and flinch. One slice fell across the bridge of his nose, right where the band of his sunglasses would rest were he wearing them.

Continuing on down the left side of his neck, shoulder, arm and back, the wounds became more erratic, crisscrossing and in varying lengths and depths as though he'd gone several rounds with a rabid lawnmower. But the majority of the slash marks were fairly shallow and superficial. There was a minorly burnt and bruised spot along the side of his face from where the overheated body of the helicopter had slammed into his head, nearly giving him a concussion, but only five or six of the gouges were deep enough to require stitching. Already the doctor had neatly stitched up the wounds on his cheek bone and on his neck, just across his collarbone, and was currently working on the deepest of the cuts, right across his upper shoulder.

In spite of the bleeding cuts, however, what troubled him most was the slightly burnt crinkle to the tips of his hair and eyebrows. Almost with childlike bewilderment, he patted at the mussed coif, actually gasping when an ash-like fall came as a result of his tampering. "Gus, do you think they'll need to amputate?" he asked, shooting huge, glassy doe-eyes in his friend’s direction.

"Well, you would look more like your dad if they did," Gus commented, inspecting the top of his friend’s head critically.

Shawn froze, aiming a dirty look at him. "Dude, that’s so not even funny."

Before Gus could open his mouth to respond, the door to the exam room swung open, a candy striper holding the knob and flashing a shy smile in the pharmaceutical salesman’s direction. Two people in crisp suits moved in past her.

"Oh my god, Shawn!" Juliet exclaimed, the exam room door closing behind them. "What on earth…?"

"Spencer, do you have a death wish? Because if that’s the case, I’d be happy to help you out," Lassiter said, his eyes sweeping over the psychic. "You don't seem capable of getting the job done on your own."

"Dude!" Shawn exclaimed, arms flying up to cover his bare chest, "Do you mi—owww…!" The exclamation dissolved into a hiss of pain.

"What did you do?" Juliet demanded, aghast.

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Spencer—"

"Shawn," the psychic gritted.

"Shawn," the doctor echoed, tone faintly exasperated. "No sudden movements, remember?" Shawn made a face as the doctor began dabbing at the fresh blood leaking down his arm with a square of gauze.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, still grimacing in pain. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the main attraction of this peep show."

"Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer," Lassiter retorted.

"You don’t have anything we haven’t seen before," Juliet said, easing back into her collected professional demeanor.

"You don’t know that," Shawn muttered, hands still spread protectively over his chest. "What are you doing here anyway? Is it legal for you to barge in here like this? What if I wasn’t wearing any—"

"God, please don’t finish that sentence. I don’t need any more scarring mental images," Lassiter said, holding up a hand sharply to stop him.

"Shawn, you spent a week in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks when you worked at the water park last year. You’re less naked now," Juliet pointed out.

"Jules, at the water park everybody was half-naked. Personally I don’t think a doctor’s office is the appropriate place for ogling." His arms remained stubbornly crossed over his chest.

Juliet flushed and Lassiter cut in, saying loudly, " _Nobody is ogling anything_."

Latching onto this declaration, Juliet pulled a pad of paper out of her purse, saying, "We just came to get your statement about the accident, okay?" Glancing over his figure again out of the corner of her eye she shook her head. "Really, Shawn. You’ve got to be more careful. This is the second time you’ve been in the hospital in a week. I can talk to the Chief if you need to talk to someone about this habit you have of placing yourself in danger."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I didn’t ‘place myself in danger’, Jules. And it wasn’t an accident." He shifted on the table, tilting his chin up. "Someone tried to kill me."

His declaration was met with silence, broken only by the snip of the doctor’s scissors.

Finally, voice laced with derision, Lassiter said, "Riiight. And I’m a yellow-crested cockatoo. Spencer, are you even capable of seeing reality as-is?"

"I always see reality as-is," Shawn said and Lassiter shook his head in disgust. "It's a gift."

"Are you telling me you think the helicopter operator, who just started working on set today, is the saboteur/killer we’re looking for?" Juliet asked, disbelief etched into her features.

"No, of course not," Shawn said, flapping his hand. "That makes no sense."

"Then how could someone have tried to kill you with the helicopter, Shawn? I got statements from a dozen different people who all said Mr. Randall was the only one who handled it."

"And I’m sure he was," Shawn said agreeably.

"You’re not making any sense," Juliet told him.

"He never makes any sense!" Lassiter grumbled, arms crossed peevishly over his chest.

"All right, look," Shawn said. "Right before the helic—" He hissed suddenly, jerking slightly away from the doctor, who carefully pulled a needle back from where it had been inserted into his arm. "Dude, a little warning would be nice!"

The doctor glanced up, flashing a mild smile. "Sorry. You’ll feel it a few more times."

Shawn’s face twisted into a grimace, but he turned back to Juliet. "Anyway. As I was saying, right before the helicopter crashed, I heard someone run into the guy with the controller. I’m not saying it’s the most brilliant plan ever—it’s a miracle the thing even hit me, but whoever we’re dealing with hasn’t exactly proved themselves to be Mastermind of the Year either."

Juliet didn’t exactly look convinced. "Mr. Randall did say the reason the helicopter crashed was because someone fell on top of him. He never got a good look at who it was—just said it was ‘one of the idiotic PAs’. A few of the witnesses mentioned seeing someone run into him but none of them could tell us who it was because they were all too busy watching the helicopter. But Shawn…"

Lassiter rubbed a hand over his face. "Let me get this straight. You’re saying the killer bumped into the helicopter controller with the intention of crashing it into you. He did this despite the fact that the odds of it actually falling and hitting you specifically were astronomically small."

Shawn thought for a moment and nodded. "Yep. That’s pretty much it."

"Even if that is true," Lassiter said, "and I’m not saying it is, because the idea is absolutely ludicrous, there’s no way to prove whoever it was acted deliberately."

Shawn’s head wavered. "Well…yeah. But it’s still important."

Lassiter’s eyebrows rose skeptically. "How exactly?"

"Dude, if someone’s trying to kill me then that means they think I’m onto them! I’m making headway!" he exclaimed, arms moving out excitedly.

" _Mr. Spencer_ ," the doctor protested.

"Shawn! Having someone try to kill you is not a good thing!" Juliet said sharply. Heaving a put-upon sigh, the doctor dabbed at another trickle of blood and shook his head before setting back to work.

"This is all assuming you were actually the target," Lassiter said. "It could have been anyone. Carlisle was there, wasn’t she? It could just as easily have been another attempt on her life that went wrong, since this plan is completely idiotic in the first place."

Shawn bit his lip. "It is possible," he finally admitted.

The doctor straightened, reaching for his shears once again and snipping the thread between his fingers. "There you are, Mr.—Shawn. Sixty-eight stitches even. We’ll get some bandages put over these and you’ll be good to go."

"Sweet." He looked in Gus’ direction and said, "What time is it? Shooting starts at six, right?"

"Shawn, you just got stitches, I really don’t think going right back to the set is the best idea," Juliet protested.

"Whoever the helicopter was meant for, it still means someone is trying to off people down there, Jules. I have to go," Shawn said. "I can’t get psychic vibes about the case from my apartment."

Juliet put her hands up. "I understand that, but I really think you should just take a few days off, Shawn. That’s a lot of stitches and you’re going to be sore and you really can’t seem to avoid getting into trouble while you’re on that movie set. Carlton and I will figure out who’s trying to kill Eliza."

"But I already have a suspect!" Shawn protested. "Follow-through and all of that, Jules!"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You have a suspect? Who?"

Shawn paused, lips pursing. "Well…"

Juliet crossed her arms over her chest. "It’s Gabe, the director, isn’t it?"

Shawn’s eyes jumped up to her face, his mouth falling open. "You suspect him, too?!"

Heaving an exasperated sigh, Juliet said, "No. But it would explain that little pow-wow you called us in for last night. You expected him to confess, didn’t you?"

The psychic’s head wavered. "…I was hoping."

"Great. So we’re back to one of his little spiritual hunches," Lassiter said. "Remind me why we pay you again?"

"You don’t," Gus said. "The city does."

Lassiter leveled a glare in Gus’ direction and he shrugged as though to say,  _You asked_.

"All right, Mr. Spencer," the doctor said, patting one last piece of tape into place. "You’re all set. Try to keep the stitches dry for at least twenty-four hours and then you can start washing them, carefully." He scribbled something on a pad on the counter and tore off the top sheet before holding it out. Gus batted Shawn’s hand away, accepting the sheet and his friend’s dirty look. "This is for antibiotic ointment. Apply it to your stitches after you wash them to help prevent scarring and infection. Come back in seven days and we’ll take the stitches out. Other than that, just _take it easy_. The scarring will be significantly worse if you pull them out repeatedly." Jotting down something else on the pad, he signed it with a flourish and then tore the sheet off, holding it out to Gus. "This is for Lortab, a painkiller." Looking to Shawn he said, "Take one or two every four hours, depending on your pain. Make sure you eat something and don’t drink alcohol. All right?"

"Aye, aye," Shawn said, lifting his hand in a lazy salute and then wincing. That was going to take some getting used to.

"Thank you," Gus said, dipping his head in a formal nod at the doctor.

"My pleasure." He pointed a finger at a small plastic cup on the counter and looked significantly at Shawn. "You’ll probably want to take that." Then with a polite nod, "Have a good night, gentlemen; detectives."

Juliet smiled as he exited, Lassiter muttering under his breath, "Should have stitched up his mouth, too."

"If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go finish dealing with the paperwork," Gus said, slipping past them as well.

"That candy striper was totally checking out your calves, Gus!" Shawn called after him. "Give her the Jordan flex on your way out! I bet she’s already got her number ready!" Gus didn’t respond, but nonetheless a silly grin broke across Shawn’s face. Lassiter continued to grumble under his breath, Juliet shaking her head in exasperation.

On the examining table, Shawn began gathering up the t-shirt lying next to his thigh. He straightened it out with a flap and began threading his arms into it, moving the shirt gingerly over his left arm. Despite the care he took, a moment later he was biting back a curse, the shirt sliding free of his grip onto the floor after dragging a little too firmly over the bandages.

Juliet sighed. "Let me help."

"I’ll be in the car," Lassiter grumbled and then they were alone.

"Jules—"

"Don’t even say it," she said, moving toward him and bending to pick up the shirt. Shawn’s mouth curled into a small smile. Juliet bunched the shirt up until her fingers were poking out through the arm holes and then held it out. "Arms." Wincing and hissing softly under his breath, Shawn lifted his arms, sliding them in through the holes. Juliet did her best to avoid the bandages, sliding the collar over his bent head and then carefully pulling the shirt straight over his chest. As soon as his individual appendages were through the correct holes, Shawn dropped his arms, breathing sharply through his nose.

"That…hurts like nobody’s freaking business," he muttered breathlessly.

"Stitches are wont to be that way," Juliet said dryly. "Is Gus going to be there to help you tonight?"

"Probably if I whine enough. He has work in the morning. If you see me still wearing this t-shirt in three days, you’ll know he never showed up." He looked up through his lashes at her. "Unless you want to—"

Juliet let out a bark of laughter and he pouted.

"That’s so insensitive, Jules. I’m in pain here."

"Promise me you won’t go back to the movie set and I’ll come help you out tonight," she said, chin tilting upward.

Shawn’s mouth opened, halted, and then closed, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "No fair."

Juliet’s mouth fell open in mock-offense. "You won’t even take a break for little old me?"

Shawn’s face creased unhappily. "You wouldn’t come anyway. You’d just get Gus and then show up for five minutes to make fun of me," he said.

Her grin turned wicked. "Probably true."

"Knew it," he muttered and a grimace flickered across his face as he got to his feet, gingerly favoring his arm.

Juliet shook her head. "I can’t believe you plan to go back to the set."

"I’m a featured extra, Jules. The show must go on!" He winced as an automatic gesture sent a ripple of pain up his arm and added in a taut voice, "After I get some drugs."

"You’re utterly absurd sometimes, Shawn," she said, marveling at him. Putting a hand to his arm, she lifted an open hand into his view. A fat white pill sat against the curve of her palm. "I think it’s time to take this."

"Ooh, yes,  _drugs_ ," he murmured, taking the pill and swallowing it down with a grimace. Juliet offered up her water bottle, watching him patiently as he took a long pull. He really did look terrible. The left side of his body made it look like he’d been in a paper factory in the middle of a hurricane, a bruise on his cheekbone faintly creeping in a crescent shape around his eye. They were faint circles beneath his eyes too; obviously he hadn’t been getting as much sleep as he should have. His right arm still bore the healing scab from the first major mishap on the set and she suspected that despite his lack of coughing, his chest wasn’t feeling 100% just yet.

Pain was obviously something he didn't cope well with--the ginger way he was favoring his arm and his eagerness to get the painkiller into his system made that obvious enough--but he was still stubbornly insisting on going back. It was hard to reconcile the two opposing traits.

She pressed her lips together, a frown knitting across her brow. "Shawn, you don’t really plan to go back to the set tonight, do you?"

He blinked at her, cocking his head slightly to the side and then hissing. His hand pressed tentatively against the bandage there.

Juliet put a hand on his arm, regarding him seriously. "Go home and rest, Shawn. Once those drugs kick in you won’t want to do anything but sleep anyway. You’re pushing yourself too hard."

He looked at her for a long moment. "You’re right, Jules."

She blinked at him, surprise opening up her features. "I am?"

"Yep. I’ll get Gus to take me home right now." Juliet followed him out into the E.R. waiting area bewildered by how easily the psychic had been swayed. Maybe those traits weren't as hard to reconcile as she thought...

Gus stood at the counter near one of the nurses, intently filling out paperwork, his forehead pinched in concentration. "Gus! We’re going home," Shawn announced as they approached.

The pharmaceuticals salesman looked up, surprise and then suspicion flitting across his features. "We are?" he asked, disbelief evident in his tone. Juliet was glad she wasn’t the only one who found Shawn’s sudden willingness to go home suspicious.

Shawn nodded decisively. "Absolutely."

Gus glanced at her. "What did you do to him?"

She shrugged shaking her head, clueless. "I have no idea."

Glancing back to Shawn, obviously still dubious, Gus said, "I have to finish this paperwork." Looking back at Juliet, he added, "You don’t have to stay, Juliet."

She glanced between the pair, watching as Shawn eased himself down into a nearby chair. "All right. Take care of yourself," she told Shawn sternly.

He flashed a smile at her. "I always do."

At the counter, Gus snorted which told her exactly what he thought of that statement. She just gave Shawn another pointed look and then said goodbye to Gus and headed out into the night. Shawn sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing.

"So are we really going home?" Gus asked, initialing several small spaces.

"Of course not," Shawn said. "We’re going back to the set. Honestly, Gus. Sometimes I wonder if you even know me at all."

Gus rolled his eyes and put the last necessary signature on the final page of paperwork with a determined gesture. "I know you. I just keep hoping one of these days some sense will leak in through your thick skull."

A smart retort popped to mind but the throb from Shawn’s stitches was softening, relaxation seeping through his muscles and he mumbled it half-heartedly, finding it not really worth the trouble to make sure Gus heard him. He cracked an eye when Gus stopped next to the chair.

"Do you think you’re going to want these painkillers tonight, or do you want to wait until tomorrow to get them?"

"Nah, we can get them tomorrow," Shawn said, getting lazily to his feet. He was surprised and pleased by how little it hurt. "Let’s get back for the last few hours of filming."

They headed for the car, Shawn taking a deep breath as the cool night air washed over him. Man, he hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time. Much as he wanted to get back to the set and try to puzzle out what was going on, right now finding a soft surface to lie down on sounded—aw, crap.

He blinked twice, deliberately and tried to fight back against the soft edges creeping up around everything. Dammit.  _Lortab_. He’d forgotten that particular painkiller had the unfortunate side effects of slowed mental processes and extreme drowsiness. As if to confirm this thought, he broke into a yawn that had him wincing as it tugged at the stitching on the side of his face. He wanted to be annoyed at himself for being so eager to take the pills but it just took too much effort.

They reached the car and he pulled open his door with another yawn, slouching bonelessly into the passenger’s seat. Gus glanced at him as he pulled his own door shut. "Are you all right?"

"M’fine," Shawn mumbled, blinking again consciously. "Just th’ Lortab."

Gus tried and failed to mask a pleased expression. "Tired?" he said with a poor attempt at sympathy.

Shawn scowled at him, but the annoyance quickly ebbed away under the influence of the drugs. His eyelids drooped, feeling heavier with every passing second. It was too strong to fight. Maaan… Tomorrow he was taking Tylenol, and nothing else. "Shuddup," he mumbled at Gus and felt himself slipping away as the car came to life, vibrating soothingly beneath him.

~*~

When Shawn’s eyes slid closed and it became obvious he was succumbing to the effects of the painkillers, Gus was pleased. He hadn’t really planned on taking Shawn back to the set tonight no matter what he wanted, but he had anticipated having to fight him on it the whole way. Having him passed out made reaching his objective much easier.

The drive back to Shawn’s apartment was quiet aside from Shawn’s soft, steady breathing. At the complex he pulled smoothly into the parking space reserved for Shawn’s guests and turned the car off, nudging Shawn with his elbow. "Come on, Shawn. Time to go upstairs."

Shawn’s eyes fluttered slightly and he breathed in with a small snuffling noise, but he didn’t budge. Gus sighed and prodded him a little more firmly. "Shawn, come on. Just a flight of stairs and one hallway and you can go to bed." Shawn snuffled softly again but this time his eyelids didn’t even twitch. Gus heaved a sigh. Of course it wasn’t going to be as easy as all that. It never was.

He tried to rouse Shawn a few more times, vainly, before finally giving up and pulling out his cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Juliet," he said wearily. "Can I ask you a favor?"

~*~

Ten minutes later the blonde detective pulled into the space beside his Toyota and he stepped out of the car to greet her. "Thanks again."

She smiled and he couldn’t help noting that she looked pretty and put together even in the t-shirt and sweats that were obviously meant for in-home use. "No problem. I’m just glad he’s going to be getting some rest."

"So how do you want to do this?"

She moved around to the side of his car where Shawn sat, sleeping soundly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, we need him to come out of it enough to give us a little bit of help. There’s no way we’re going to be able to carry him. Let me see if I can get any response out of him." She pulled open Shawn’s door and crouched, putting a hand on Shawn’s knee. "Shawn?"

Nothing.

She reached up, patting one scratchy cheek. "Shawn, wake up."

He grimaced slightly and one hand twitched. Juliet stifled a smile.

"Come on, Shawn. Wake up. Just for a few minutes." She patted his cheek with a little more force. His eyes fluttered, a noise of annoyance catching in his throat. She rolled her eyes and straightened up a little so that she could reach into the car. Taking him by the arm, she gently maneuvered him out of his comfortable slouch.

"Nn… _whaaat?_ " he protested grumpily. "Lemme alone."

"Uh uh," Juliet said, tapping the side of his face as his cracked open eyes began to droop again. "You want to sleep, you need to get upstairs into a bed."

Shawn grimaced, his forehead creasing. A second later the creases smoothed slightly and he echoed drowsily, "Bed?"

Juliet smiled and glanced over her shoulder, gesturing Gus forward. He moved in, taking Shawn’s right arm. "Yep, bed. Sounds good doesn’t it?" she said, helping him swing his feet out of the car.

"Mmm," Shawn murmured.

"All right, let’s get you up there," Juliet said encouragingly. Shawn blinked a few times, obviously still nowhere near awake, but his body seemed willing enough to relocate and he pushed to his feet with their support. Once he was out of the way, Juliet pushed the door closed with her foot.

As they started across the parking lot, Shawn mumbled, "J’les gave me painkillers.  _Lortab_ ," he told them, as though it were somehow morally reprehensible.

Gus looked at her around Shawn’s profile and she had to struggle not to laugh out loud.

"Lortab makes me fuzzy," Shawn sighed and started to sag. Juliet squeezed him around the waist.

"Hey, no sleeping yet. We’ve still got to get upstairs."

He managed to infuse a bit more strength into his legs again but he mumbled, "I hate not being able to think. ‘s all  _hazy_."

Juliet said nothing as they started up the stairs.

At the door to Shawn’s apartment, Gus pulled a face and reached into Shawn’s pocket, tugging out his keys. Shawn took no notice, his head lolling to the side, hair brushing at Juliet’s temple. Gus fumbled with the lock for a moment before finally sliding the key home and unlocking the door with a soft  _clack_. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

"Come on, Shawn. We’re almost there," Juliet said, nudging him forward. Shawn straightened, moving into the apartment with them. Navigating down the hallway to his bedroom was a little more difficult since the hallway wasn’t really built to allow three people to walk down it side by side, but Shawn had come out of it far enough that Gus’ help was all he needed.

In his bedroom, pale orange light slid in through the slats in the blinds across a queen-sized bed sporting a wadded up green plaid comforter. Clothes were scattered around the floor in all colors of the rainbow and an empty wooden bedside table sat on the left side of the bed. She shook her head, eyes turning back toward Shawn and Gus as the former was assisted into a controlled face-plant onto the mattress.

Shawn groaned softly, arms wrapping around a pillow and stuffing it up under his head. Juliet smothered a smile and moved to get his shoes off. The painkillers were obviously doing their job because not so much as a flinch crossed his features.

His eyes cracked open as Juliet pulled off one of his shoes and he blinked slowly at Gus’ chest, the other man reaching over to pull the comforter over him. "Gus," he mumbled. His eyelids slid downward as his other shoe came free and he sighed as his socks were peeled off.

Gus was settling the blanket over him when he pried his eyes open again. He reached out, catching hold of Gus’ sleeve. "You’re not gonna leave me, right?" he asked, clutching his arm.

Gus stared at him for a second and then shook his head, eyes moving to the covers again. "Don’t be stupid, Shawn. I’m not going anywhere with you this out of it."

A lazy smile crossed Shawn’s face and his eyes closed. A moment later his features were slack and he was asleep.

Gus met Juliet’s gaze and the pair crept quietly out of the bedroom.

~*~

The next morning Gus’ head popped up at the sound of a loud curse. "Would you mind if I called you back?" he asked the cell phone pressed to his ear. "Yes. Uh huh. Thanks, bye." He flipped the phone shut and set the spoon in his other hand in his cereal bowl. "Shawn?" he called.

"Gus?" he called back. His voice was taut with pain.

"You okay?"

"Do I sound okay?" Shawn snapped back at him. He let out another string of epithets. When he spoke again his voice was more subdued. "Do you have any Tylenol?"

"I always have Tylenol when I’m with you, Shawn," Gus said, swiping the bottle of pills off the counter. He moved down the hallway and paused in the doorway to Shawn’s bedroom. Shawn had sagged against the door frame to his bathroom and despite having gotten some well-needed rest, he looked, if possible, worse than he had the night before. It probably had something to do with the pain.

He popped open the bottle and poured three capsules into his palm. "Here."

Shawn took them eagerly, tipping his head back and popping them all into his mouth at once. He turned back into the bathroom to swallow a mouthful of water from the tap.

"You  _could_ just take one of the Lortab," Gus told him, exasperated. "Those might take the edge off but it's still going to hurt."

Shawn straightened up again with a wince and turned a glare on him. "I am not taking any more of those things while I still have a case to solve."

"I should have just switched them," Gus muttered, moving back out to the front room.

"I would have noticed!" Shawn yelled after him.

"Yeah, because you took a real good look before cramming them down your throat."

Shawn chucked a pillow down the hall at him and then cursed as the stitches on his shoulder protested angrily.

"Serves you right," Gus said smugly, returning to his cereal.

~*~

"There’s nothing wrong with Eggos, Shawn," Gus said, voice flat with annoyance. Shawn shot him a dubious look as they strode across the dunes toward the teeming mass that was the set for  _It Came From Space to Conquer Rome_ later that afternoon. It looked even more ridiculous from the outside than it did from the inside, with the exposed backs of set pieces and lights littering the beach side and, most bizarrely of all, a hundred foot tall crane suspending a what looked like a gigantic mutant disco ball with protruding "wings" that looked a lot more like enormous bananas.

 

"Gus. Everyone knows  _real_ waffles come in square form. Eggos are too round to be true waffles. Therefore they must be inferior."

"So what? What Eggos lack in shapeliness they make up for in speed!"

"That's just wrong. Convenience culture has gone a step too far. It's taken away the sanctity of the home-made waffle!" Shawn stopped, turning toward Gus. "Dude, don't you remember my mom's homemade pineapple waffles? Don't you remember how unbelievable they were?"

Gus sighed, eyes unfocusing dreamily, and nodded his head as he recalled the perfect blend of tastes that had made up Mrs. Spencer’s pineapple waffles. They  _were_ unbelievable.

 

"Well think of it this way," Shawn dropped his voice and leaned forward ominously. "No one else in the Eggo generation will ever know the joy of pineapple waffles."

Gus shuddered and then, with a forlorn expression said, "Now I want waffles."

Shawn grimaced in response. "I know, right?"

Ahead they saw Gabe slip past the barriers surrounding the set and take off at a rapid clip toward the beach parking lot. Shawn’s eyebrows rose like a dog’s ears perking up and Gus opened his mouth. "Oh no, Shawn. Don’t even think about it. I’m serious.  _Don’t_." He heaved a sigh as Shawn completely ignored him and took off across the beach, crouched low to keep out of sight.

He stood for a moment, staring after Shawn with pursed lips before finally giving in and chasing after him. Curse his weak will. "Wait up, Shawn!" he hissed in a stage-whisper.

They tailed Gabe through the parking lot to the end farthest away from the set where he found one of the trash cans sitting crookedly in the sand just past the end of the pavement and stopped, fidgeting and scanning the area. He was waiting for something.

"I knew it!" Shawn exclaimed sotto voce and then made a face. "This is like dè já vu."

"It’s shifty is what it is," Gus muttered.

Shawn shot him an incredulous look. "Shady for this guy, but not my dad?"

"You don’t suspect your dad of murder, Shawn," Gus pointed out.

"You don’t know that."

Gus turned to him with a skeptical expression. "Shawn."

Shawn kept his gaze deliberately on Gabe. "All I’m saying is I always thought he led a double life…"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Your dad is not a secret agent, Shawn. How many times do we have to have this conversation?"

"Gus, the  _point_ of a secret is that nobody knows, so we can’t ever be sure."

Instead of responding, Gus made a fierce shushing noise at him and they ducked behind a nearby Prius in tandem as Gabe’s gaze swept in their direction. Shawn breathed out a few choice swear words, letting his face drop to the pavement. The stitches were Not Happy.

"Your dad is not a secret agent, Shawn," Gus hissed at him from beneath the car.

"Agree to disagree," Shawn grit between his teeth and then screwed up his eyes and pushed up a little to check if the coast was clear. Gabe was tugging at the ends of his shirt and staring down the parking lot in the opposite direction. "C’mon. We’ve gotta get closer."

Gus made a grunting noise of annoyance and exasperation both, but followed after him nonetheless. Ducking behind an old black Chevy, they couldn’t see Gabe’s face anymore, but they could hear him, which turned out to be even better.

"…don’t have all day," Gabe was muttering to himself.

After a few long minutes spent pressed to the gritty asphalt, a second pair of feet finally joined Gabe’s orange-sneaker clad ones on the other side of the muscle car.

"Dude," Shawn whispered, "is that guy wearing Kangaroos?"

"Shawn!" Gus hissed. "Focus!"

"Right," Shawn muttered. He tuned back into the conversation.

"…this is what you asked for. She’ll be at the Villa de la Guerra at seven." Shawn leaned forward, peeking out from around the car's shiny silver grill. Gabe was handing someone—the hand was pretty mannish looking—a fat, white envelope. A fat, white envelope the contents of which looked a lot like a considerably sized stack of cash.

Shawn slid back behind the car.

"Make sure you’re there on time. I don’t want her seeing you and getting suspicious."

"No problem." Definitely a man.

There was a pause as, Shawn guessed, the two men shook hands and then Kangaroo guy headed back across the parking lot. Gabe turned and headed back toward the set at a brisk walk. Shawn thought he looked awfully pleased with himself.

"Dude," he said as soon as Gabe was out of hearing range, "what is with all these film noir envelope exchanges? Our lives have become weirdly themed ever since you got us into this." He dusted off the pants of his jeans, ignored a stab of pain from his shoulder and flashed a smile at two surly looking men headed their way.

"Since I got us into this?" Gus echoed incredulously. "You got us these parts!"

"Because I was sucking up to you!" he exclaimed and, in deference to the scary men, gave Gus a few good pushes and got him storming off toward the set again.

Gus huffed. "Would you stop pushing me already?"

Shawn shot a quick glance over his shoulder, but the two men were sliding into the car, safely preoccupied. He changed the subject. "That's the clincher, Gus. Gabe's definitely our man."

"Well, shouldn't we tell someone?" Gus said, eyeing the small figure ahead of them that was Gabe Owens.

Shawn paused, his head bobbing in a small nod. "Good point."

"And we need to get on set,  _now_ ," Gus added, with a pointed look. "Gabe threw a fit last night because of the delay. I think the only reason you’re still an extra is because of Eliza’s creepy crush on you. She won’t let him replace you."

"Well at least it’s doing some good," Shawn said as they moved past the guards onto the set.

Gus eyebrows rose. "A crush probably won't save you if he flies into a murderous rage."

"Touche."

~*~

Filming wrapped early at six-thirty and Shawn and Gus took off for Villa de la Guerra the second they had stripped out of their togas and thrown on slightly less conspicuous clothing. Shawn had no intention of missing out on the action.

They actually weren't able to locate the building in question, but there was a whole lot full of police vehicles of various makes and models in the parking for the Old Mission so they figured had to be close. They pulled in and wove through the clustered cars to where all the people were gathered, Lassiter and Juliet in the middle of the crowd decked out in tac-gear.

"Marconi, your team is on the front entrance. Weston, your team will be at the rear entrance with me. Guest list is between one-fifty and two hundred. Exercise caution, people. We don't want anyone getting shot who doesn't deserve it," Lassiter was barking. "Move out!"

Half of the people in the crowd broke off and went toward the street to circle around to the front, the other half forming up into their designated positions at their team leader's direction.

Lassiter began conferring with several of the officers being left behind while Juliet monitored the radio.

Shawn didn't have one of the nifty earpieces, but he saw Juliet perk up and assumed that she'd gotten word from the other team, a fact confirmed moments later.

"We're ready, Carlton."

He nodded and started to face the right direction when he spotted Shawn and Gus. Annoyance washed over his face. "Stay here," he ordered, but his tone said that he didn't expect to be listened to.

Well, at least he wouldn't be disappointed.

"Dude, this is awesome!" Shawn hissed as they barreled after the S.W.A.T. team. He was grateful now that he had thrown down those extra Tylenol with the last round. Running like this would be hell otherwise.

Gus shot his friend a look for that remark, but he was right there too so he could hardly chew him out for his poor taste.

They were at the back of the train, however, so long before they could see what was going on they heard screams of terror and shouts of, "POLICE! EVERYBODY DOWN!"

More orders to, "GET DOWN! GET DOWN! GET DOWN!" followed and then they were past the back gate and into the gardens where they could see a rainbow of jeweled silks and sleek black and white combinations all moving down toward the ground.

Murmurs of annoyance and panic and fear interspersed with the occasional sob filled the air as the grounds were secured.

" _Clear!_ " was repeated from several locations and then Lassiter stopped and looked around.

He keyed his mic and asked, "Has anyone located the target?"

"Here!" came the response as a woman was escorted out of the house by two of the S.W.A.T. guys. She was quickly shuffled down the walk and out the back gate, looking very confused.

"Shawn?" she asked as she walked past and he nodded gravely at her.

"Everything's going to be okay, Eliza. The nightmare is over."

  
"Where is—" Lassiter started to ask.

"Get your hands off of me!" another voice interrupted as a second person was escorted out. It was Gabe and he did not look happy.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, shaking free of the S.W.A.T. member at his elbow. "Are you in charge here?" he asked, striding towards Lassiter.

Lassiter employed his 'talking to civilians in a nice—if somewhat annoyed' tone and explained, "We have reason to believe that there was going to be an attempt on Miss Carlisle's life tonight. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you Mister..."

But Gabe wasn't looking at Lassiter anymore.

His eyes were locked on the two people not wearing tac-vests by the back gate.

"Spencer?" he said incredulously. "What the hell?"

Shawn responded with a hand raised to his temple and a hiss of pain as his face scrunched up briefly. When his eyes opened again they flicked between Gabe and Eliza, both flanked by two curious S.W.A.T. members. "Your hatred for Eliza has finally gone too far, Gabe," Shawn announced, pushing his shoulders back.

"Excuse me?" Gabe demanded, eyes widening sharply.

"Most of the time you were pretty good at controlling your temper, your hatred for your contracted leading lady. You’re a patient man after all."

 // _Shawn could see the director clenching his fists on the sides of his chair before calmly asking, "Eliza, honey? What’s wrong?"_ //

Eliza's eyes went to Gabe and her confusion turned into a scowl.  
  
"You're not exactly a peach to work for yourself, Mr. I-Can't-Choose-A-Script-To-Save-My-Life."  
  
Gabe briefly glanced away from Shawn to sneer, but Shawn wasn't nearly done with his vision.

"Eliza knew just how to get under your skin and she’s been driving you insane from day one."

  
// _Gabe's cheeks suddenly turned a deep shade of purple (and Shawn could only imagine what his blood pressure was like at the moment). "Well, that's the way it's written here and that's the way we're going to perform the scene." Gabe slammed his hand on the arm of his chair, causing the person sitting next to him to jump from the noise. "This is how it's going to be done!"_ //

"See?" Gabe said, "even Spencer can see you're a bitch. You're not fooling anyone, sweetiepie."  
  
Eliza's cheeks flamed red and she started toward the pudgy little director, but the S.W.A.T. guy next to her held her back with a soft, "Whoa there."

"She finally pushed you too far. You snapped and that was when the ‘accidents’ started."

// _"Not while I'm around!" With a swish of her long locks, Eliza Carlisle turned her nose up and stomped off in the direction of her trailer, voices calling out and a young man with a headset running after her as he yelled her name._  
  
 And while Shawn hadn't brushed up on his lip reading skills since the high school winter formal debacle of 1994, he was pretty sure the director had just mouthed, "Oh, that can be arranged."//

"What?" Gabe exclaimed, eyes bulging in shock. "Are you completely insane?"

"Ha!" Eliza crowed. "I  _knew_  they weren't accidents! You were trying to get rid of me so that talentless hack you're banging can get the part, aren't you? Well, I have news for you,  _sweetiepie_ , even if I did leave for some reason, she'd never be approved to take my place."

If Gabe really wanted to kill her, the look in his eyes right then probably could have done the job.

"Why you,  _whore!_ " he snarled and leapt for Eliza. "That's my wife you're talking about!"

It took two S.W.A.T. guys to hold him back and the one in front of Eliza stepped so he was between her and the enraged man still fighting to get free.

  
She was smiling smugly, but Lassiter's shout of, "EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP!" wiped it away. He was leveling a potent glare at all parties involved, ending with Shawn. "Do you think that maybe  _the_   _spirits_ ," he said with his usual disdain, "could hurry this up, Spencer?"

Shawn blinked and then jumped right back into the vision.

"Shortly after that first threat, the C-Stand toppled over, nearly killing Eliza in the process. Unfortunately for you, I was there and Eliza was rescued from a terrible fate. But you weren’t finished. Oh no." He shook his head, a solemn expression on his face.

"I can’t believe this!" Gabe snarled. "That helicopter must have knocked your brain loose!"

 // _As soon as Gus finished his sentence, Gabe, the director, came storming up between them, breaking through Gus and Samantha's handshake._  
  
"...thinks she can talk to me like that," he grumbled, then turned sharply on his heels, "WELL I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU, YOU SNOT NOSED DIVA, YOU'RE NOT REALLY THAT GOOD OF AN ACTRESS ANYWAY!"//

"Your hatred for Eliza only got worse. You tried to quit to get away from her, but you were thwarted by the contract you had signed. You were trapped."

 // _"What was that all about?" Shawn asked, thumb pointed towards the angry director._  
  
Samantha sighed again and wiped a hand across her forehead as a few stray brown hairs fell in her face.  "He threatened to quit."

Gus' eyes grew wide. "No!" he gasped.

"Oh yes," Samantha said with a nod.  "That is, until I reminded him he signed a contract."//  
  
"Like a rat," Gus added, eyebrows rising.  
  
Shawn shot him a quick grin. "Nice, buddy."  
  
They shared a fist bump.  
  
Gabe had stopped trying to get free and now he shook himself and readjusted his jacket, snorting. "I was not  _trapped_. I could have left, still. It just would have taken my lawyers some time. Besides, why should  _I_ have to leave when  _she_  is the one who couldn't act her way out of a wet paper bag if it was perforated? The movie shouldn’t have to suffer for her lack of skill."  
  
Eliza's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "Why you lousy son of a bitch!" She was the one trying to lunge this time and it was her S.W.A.T. escort that had to jump up and hold her back.

Gabe smiled smugly. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

"CAN WE FOCUS HERE?" Lassiter demanded.

Shawn nodded at him and continued on, "It was only moments after you stormed past, ranting about that ‘snot nosed diva’ when a second attempt was taken on Eliza’s life."

// _But Shawn was no longer paying attention to the adorable producer standing before him. Instead, his focus shifted to one of the props set up behind the leading lady. One of the big, fat, wretchedly "aged" pillars was swaying precariously, the sandbags meant to be holding it steady no longer piled up at the base. Shawn knew they had been there when they passed by a few moments ago, he remembered seeing them. But now they were gone and the rope holding the pillar back pulled taut—Eliza and her PA entourage standing directly beneath it._  
  
The rope began to fray around the middle, rapidly shredding apart under the strain.//

"Once again I jumped in to save the day and Eliza slipped through your fingers. Your next attempt was even less subtle than the first two. You purposely requested that Eliza be driven to the set on one of the golf carts, having previously cut the brake lines. But you couldn’t have anticipated Eliza refusing to ride along. She never refuses a ride."

// _"Miss Carlisle?" Eliza stopped, the arm she had hooked through Shawn’s dragging him to a screeching halt beside her as she fixed him with a look. "We need to get you down to set, the next scene is coming up soon and Gabe wanted a word with you," Drew said, unfazed._ //  
  
// _Drew paused as the little machine sprang to life. "I was just told to get you. And we gotta go, now. Vern is also needed, and he’s needed pronto. Gabe is being very insistent."_ //

// _"I’d rather walk with Shawn," Eliza said, stroking his shoulder._  
  
"You’d rather what?" Drew said, sounding incredulous. The expressions that flitted across his face were a mixture of outrage, horror, and outright terror. Shawn could practically see the man’s career flashing before his eyes.//

"Isn’t that the truth," Gabe snorted derisively, earning a nasty glare from Eliza.

Gus leaned over to Shawn, suddenly uncertain. "Is it just me, or is Gabe not acting very nervous for a guy who got caught red-handed plotting a murder?" he whispered.  
  
Shawn gave him a look. "Gus, come on!" he whispered back, "The bad guys always do this! Well, the confident ones. He doesn't realize how iron-clad our case is!"  
  
Gus didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't offer up any more doubts.

Shawn raised his voice to be heard over the noise of the argument, knowing that his next revelation would be the one that would break the whole thing right open.

"Everything fell into place two days ago though, when I heard you on the phone, confirming plans with a hitman."

// _"Gabe, the chopper guy is ready. He's just doing a few final tests and then he'll be ready for filming. That means we've got five minutes to get everybody together._ "   
  
 _"You're sure everything is in place?"_  
  
"Gabe—" Shawn’s curiosity was piqued when the AD’s reply seemed to indicate that Gabe wasn’t speaking to him.  
  
"No, I've got a way to get rid of her, don't worry."//  
  
The only sounds after that were the few evening birds and bugs that were making noise and the water moving through the garden's fountains and ponds.

Juliet's eyebrows went up and Lassiter's gaze was glued on Shawn, along with most everyone else's.

Gabe sputtered for a moment, then said, "Confirming plans with the  _what?!"_

Eliza came to life next. "You bastard! You really tried to  _kill_  me?! You son of a bitch! You'll never direct another piece of shit film ever again! You're going to jail, you lousy murdering—"

"Of course," Shawn said, almost yelling over the rising din of the reinvigorated shouting match, as well as the murmuring from the surrounding crowd, "I couldn’t let you get away with it. The vision that hit me as Gus and I were making our way to the set was the clincher. I saw you paying off the hitman in the parking lot this very afternoon!"

// _"…this is what you asked for. She’ll be at the Villa de la Guerra at seven." Shawn leaned forward, peeking out from under the car. Gabe was handing someone—the hand was pretty mannish looking—a fat, white envelope. A fat, white envelope that’s contents looked quite a lot like a stack of cash._  
  
"Make sure you’re there on time. I don’t want her seeing you and getting suspicious."//

Gabe stared at Shawn while Eliza continued to rage, then suddenly he began laughing.

That was...unexpected.

It even shut Eliza up.

Looks were being exchanged all over the place as everyone tried to figure out what was going on.

"Shawn?" Gus whispered.

Shawn shrugged. "That...wasn't really supposed to be a punchline."

"You--" Gabe had to suck in a breath, which whooshed out on another riff of laughter. "You think I...I was paying off...a  _hitman?_ " he finally managed to gasp out between bouts of laughter. His face was turning an alarming shade of red as he bent over at the waist, clutching his stomach.

Shawn looked around, as if the question had been directed to someone else. "Yes?" he said in confusion.

Just then there was a commotion from the gate and all eyes turned as a new voice rapidly grew in volume.

"No, I don't know what's going on here. I was just brought here by my chauffeur and now there are police everywhere and I just want an explanation as to what the  _hell_  is going on!"

This last was said as a new begowned and stylishly coiffed woman entered the garden, an officer trying valiantly to herd her back just barely ahead of her.

She was ignoring him as her eyes took in the scene and when they landed on Gabe she exclaimed, horrified, "Honey? What is going on here?"

Gabe sighed, his laughter apparently cured by her arrival. He waved a hand and said with a great deal of sarcasm lacing his tone, "Happy birthday, baby. Surprise!"

There was a beat in which Shawn's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise, his eyebrows rising, and then all the attention landed squarely on him.

Lassiter's brows were drawing down into a familiar scowl which did not bode well for Shawn's eardrums later. Juliet didn't look pleased either, though she'd probably just ignore him for a while instead of actively ripping him up one side and down the other. Most of the S.W.A.T. guys looked mildly to very amused and Shawn had no doubt he'd be the butt of many a joke for the next little while in their circle.

The one that hurt was the glare Gus was giving him from under lowered eyebrows.

"Wait, I can explain," he said. The protest was feeble at best, which was understandable considering he wasn’t sure he  _could_  explain. How exactly had something this huge slipped past him?  
  
"Oh you will be," Lassiter said. "But we're going to let these people get back to their party first. You can  _explain_  down at the station."

Lassiter turned away then, making apologies to Gabe and then directing the S.W.A.T. to stand down and reconvene in the Old Mission's parking lot for a debrief.

"But..." Shawn said. "He... This doesn't mean he's not the killer!"

But no one was listening.

~*~

It took a great deal of effort for Shawn to keep from sighing aloud.

"…IF YOU  _EVER_  PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN, MR. SPENCER, YOU WILL NOT HAVE WORK TO COME BACK TO, ARE WE UNDERSTOOD?"

Gus kept glancing up from his laptop, a disapproving, " _You deserve this_ ," look on his face. Karen was yelling loudly enough that Shawn was pretty sure he could hear every word. Traitor.

"Yes, Chief. Sometimes the spirits get their signals crossed. Won’t happen again."

"Good," she said coldly. "I expect you do everything you can to smooth this over. And you had better not come to me with a single accusation unless you have solid, concrete proof."

"Yes, Chief. No accusations without proof. Got it."

"Good day, Mr. Spencer," she said, tone fierce. Shawn winced as the phone slammed in his ear. He pursed his lips and delicately put the receiver back on the base.

"Well, that went well."

"Uh huh," Gus said, dismissive and unimpressed.

Shawn took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. "Okay. So maybe.  _Maybe_  I was wrong. It isn’t Gabe. But  _somebody_  killed Vern. And  _somebody_  is causing these 'accidents'."

"I don’t know, Shawn. Maybe it really is just a bunch of really bad accidents. You've never been quite  _this_ wrong before."

"Don’t be a soggy saltine, Gus," Shawn muttered, pushing slowly to his feet. His heart wasn’t in the rebuke though, being wrong about Gabe had really thrown him for a loop. He moved to the back of the office, tugging the glass board out into the middle of the office before pulling out a marker. He popped the cap off, jamming it on to the butt of the marker and began tapping it against his chin. "All right. Let’s go over what we do know."

He plowed on despite Gus’ lack of a response, squashing down a throb of hurt.

The pen slid across the glass.

Someone wants Eliza dead

Sabotaged light/C-Stand/Whatever – bolts removed, loosened

Sabotaged pillar – ropes cut, sandbags moved

Sabotaged cart – brakes cut

Trailer explosion – why Vern?

Sabotaged helicopter? – crashed

He stared at the list, frustrated. He was missing something. He had to be. But Gabe fit so  _well_. "Maybe it was someone close to Gabe," he said aloud. "Someone who knew he hated her, hated her, too. Who knew he wanted to see her on set, knew where she was going to be during the C-Stand scene…"

He turned, snapping his fingers. "What about the 2nd 2nd 2nd 2nd 2nd 2nd—"

"I get it, Shawn," Gus said, cutting him off irritably. "Do you think you can prove she did it?"

Shawn sagged a little, looking back at the board. "No."

"Then we’ve got nothing to talk about," Gus said primly, snapping his laptop shut. Out front, the office door opened with a loud  _bang_. Gus met Shawn’s eyes, standing, and said, "I’m going to get coffee."

"SHAWN!"

Shawn flinched, fixing Gus’ rapidly retreating figure with a dirty glare. "Great, thanks Gus. Really appreciate the moral support!"

Gus waved as he breezed through the doorway and a moment later Henry stormed through to replace him, face an incredulous thundercloud. Shawn sighed and dropped into his chair in an attempt to look bored. The wince and hiss as the movement pulled his stitches sort of ruined the effect.

Henry slapped a newspaper down on the center of Shawn’s desk, glaring. "Shawn," he said, voice cool and calm now. The headline on the top page read PSYCHIC SAVES STARLET FROM FIERY FATE.

"Dad," Shawn said, mimicking his tone.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded, the calm of his voice trembling with the strain of keeping it that way.

"Oh, so now you care?" Shawn said without bothering to conceal the disdain in his voice.

"Don’t give me that, Shawn! It says a burning tent nearly fell on you—it says you had smoke inhalation! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Gee, Dad, I don’t know, maybe I was thinking, ‘That tent is going to fall on that innocent woman, maybe I should do something.’" He shoved to his feet again and bit back a cry at the lines of fire it set searing up his arm into his chest and neck.  _Ow_. He needed Tylenol, ASAP.

"Dammit, Shawn! You’re not a superhero! You can’t just run into burning tents or—or—" The words faltered as Shawn disappeared into the small bathroom at the back of the office. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

Shawn ignored him, easily distracted by the hot pain along the seams of his stitches and he pulled open the medicine cabinet, pushing aside a dozen other bottles before finding the red and white one he was looking for. He popped it open, spilling three of the pills into his palm. Why did he always forget to do this until the pain was almost unbearable?

Exasperation crept up over the pain when he felt his father move into the bathroom behind him. "Dad, seriously, this bathroom is not big enough for the both of us. Get out," he said and tipped the pills out of his hand into his mouth. He leaned down to the faucet, swallowing the pills down with a mouthful of water.

He wasn’t surprised when Henry was still in the doorway when he turned around, but the widening of his eyes and the hands grabbing carefully a hold of his shoulder and jaw were a little bit of a shock.

"What the hell, Dad?" he demanded as his father turned his head, fierce gaze on his neck. It wasn’t until the hand on his shoulder moved to pull the collar of his shirt to the side that he realized what Henry was doing. He sighed and resigned himself to the manhandling.

"Is this from that set, too?" Henry asked, eyes now raking over the bruising on the side of Shawn’s face.

"Yeah, Dad. A few days ago a chopper cam got out of control and crashed. It was an accident," he said, poorly concealing his impatience. It really wasn’t worth it to get into the possibility that it  _hadn’t_  been an accident right now. "Are you done gawking yet?"

"I don’t like this, Shawn," Henry said quietly. "First a fire and now this? Whatever’s going on at that set is dangerous. You shouldn’t be involved."

Shawn sighed. "Maybe not, Dad, but I am. The producer hired me and Gus to figure out who killed Vern and Gus and I are featured extras. We can’t exactly pull out now." He also kept it to himself that he and Gus might very well be  _fired_ the next time they saw the producer.

Henry let out his own sigh, his arms crossing over his chest. "Look, Shawn. I know the last few months have been rough between you and Gus, but you can make up for your idiocy some other way. Some way that  _doesn’t_  involve risking your lives. What if Gus gets hurt while you two are running around trying to solve this case? What then?"

Shawn shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the tiles on the floor. "Gus won’t get hurt. Gus isn’t an idiot."  _Like me_. He shook his head. "Dad, I’m not just sticking with this because I wanna suck up to Gus. I mean, yeah, that’s a big part of it, but I’m not going to quit in the middle of a case just because it might be a little bit dangerous. I can’t."

He tilted his chin up ever-so-slightly meeting his dad’s gaze as he scrutinized his face. Finally, Henry huffed out a small noise, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

Shawn stiffened, his jaw clenching. "What?"

Henry turned, still shaking his head and Shawn’s building anger faltered when he caught the barest hint of a smile at the corner of his dad’s mouth.

"Dad?" he called as Henry moved back out into the office. "What was that? What do you mean ‘unbelievable’?" He followed after him, forehead wrinkled with confusion.

Henry scooped the paper up off of Shawn’s desk, folding it in half and tucking it under one arm and starting for the door. "If you  _have_  to go back, Shawn, do me a favor and try to be a little more careful, will you? Next time you  _tell_  me if you get hurt."

Shawn shot him a resentful glare. "I  _did_  try to tell you. You were too busy with your new girlfriend to bother listening to me."

Henry glanced back over his shoulder, surprise written on his face. "Girlfriend? Shawn, I’m not dating anyone. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m single, thank you very much. Way to check your facts, kid."

Shawn narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Then who’s this mysterious ‘guest’ you keep blowing me off for?"

He pointed the paper at Shawn’s face. "Once again, none of your business."

"Oh, so you’ll tell me you’re not dating someone, but not who you  _are_  seeing so much of?"

A self-satisfied smile flashed onto Henry’s face. "Pretty much."

"Is it a  _boyfriend?_ " Shawn called, his voice rising sharply in alarm. It was mostly contrived, but...

"NO, Shawn!" Henry snapped, glowering. "It's none of your business who it is or what I'm doing with my time, so just let it drop."

Shawn followed as he started toward the door again. "I’m going to figure it out, Dad. If I have to set up surveillance at your house and hire myself to shoot lurid photos of you through the living room windows, I’m going to figure it out!"

Henry chuckled darkly. "Good luck with that. Seems like you’ve already got quite enough on your plate already."

"All this secrecy is bad for our relationship, Dad! Secrecy breeds resentment, you know!"

Henry waved the paper at him over his shoulder and climbed into his truck, driving away with a smirk still on his face.

Shawn’s twisted into a scowl. Well, that had been…annoying.


	3. Chapter 3

"Shawn, can I please have a _word_ with you?"

Shawn cringed and the stitches on his neck and arm pricked in protest. He and Gus had only been on set for fifteen minutes and crap was already starting to drop on his head. That did not set a pleasant pattern for the day. "Uhh," he called over his shoulder at the voice, "I, uh, I’m sorry—I think you’ve got the wrong guy. I’m just, uh—Gus, help me out here!" he hissed.

Gus snorted, shaking his head. "No way. You’re on your own for this one, Shawn."

Shawn turned, a mixture of guilt, reluctance, and annoyance warring for control of his face. He managed to smother them all with a blank, innocent look. He opened his mouth.

" _Now_ , Shawn," Samantha snapped.

His mouth shut. Shooting one last glare at his traitorous best friend, Shawn whirled the rest of the way around, plastering on a big smile. "Sam! Hi! Long time no see. You’re looking—"

Her eyes narrowed. An arm jabbed at the interior of her trailer. "Inside. Now."

Resisting the urge to sigh, Shawn trudged back to her, trying to shake off the feeling of going into the principal’s office like he was in fourth grade as he moved up the stairs and into the trailer. Samantha followed him, closing the door behind them with a sharp snap. Shawn turned to look at her, a shred of the sigh slipping out. "Look, Samantha—"

"Now I _know_ you’re not psychic." She was very obviously pissed off, a dark look in her brown eyes, little angry tendrils escaped from the ponytail on the back of her head. Her mouth was pinched into a small, sharp red crease.

Shawn paused, frowning. "Hey now."

"What the hell were you thinking? Gabe is a well-respected director, you can’t just go around flinging accusations at people like him! You’re lucky he didn’t decide to sue you for everything you’re worth!" Her hands flew as she spoke, gestures sharp, driven by her anger.

"Well, it’s not like he’d get all that much," Shawn commented, more to himself than Samantha. "A paper basketball hoop, a squeezy frog, a poster of Chad Michael Murray, oh, a mini zip line for snacks—"

"You’re lucky I don’t fire you and have you dragged right off the set. If it weren’t for Eliza and her _attachment_ to you—" Shawn grimaced. Oh, great. Hopefully she wouldn’t get any weird ideas about him owing her or anything now. "—you’d be _gone_. So I expect you to do your job for the movie _flawlessly_ from now on."

"Ouch!" Shawn rubbed the spot where her pointy finger had jabbed into his sternum.

She ignored him, plowing on. "You had better be damn sure if you make any more accusations. I’m not going to stop you, because you’re already on the books and the press has already spread your involvement around, but you’re toeing a very thin line here. If you don’t have irrefutable proof, you’re going to find yourself in a world of hurt." She glared at him, eyes blazing and deadly serious.

Why were angry women so _hot_?

~ * ~

Gus was waiting not far from the steps of the trailer when Shawn emerged.

"We’re fired aren’t we?" he said. "We’re so fired. I can’t believe you got us fired!"

Shawn rolled his eyes, huffing in exasperation. "We are not fired, Gus. Would you relax?" He ran a hand over his mouth. "I’m just…on probation. You’re still in this ridiculous movie. Nobody’s even mad at you. Are you happy?"

The anxiety and anger drained out of Gus in a rush, leaving behind a pleased, annoyingly smug look on his face. "Of course I am." He followed as Shawn took off toward the catering truck, intent on finding some ice cream or maybe a smoothie if they’d made the run already. He needed it. Nay, _deserved_ it. "I don’t understand why you insist on calling it ridiculous, though, Shawn," Gus was saying. "It’s not that bad. Especially compared to some of the junk you watch."

Shawn gaped at him, forgetting about the smoothies for a minute. "I do not watch ‘junk’, Gus!"

Gus merely raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, you don’t?"

"Nothing _I_ watch is junk." His eyes drifted as he caught someone watching them pass for the third time in the last two minutes. He frowned.

" _RepliKate_ ," Gus said, oblivious.

Shawn paused, mouth open. After a second he pointed a finger at Gus. "That doesn’t count."

Gus’ mouth twisted in a brief expression of _uh huh, yeah, sure_ before he pushed on, unmoved. " _Model_ _Behavior_."

"Dude, she’s hot!" Shawn protested. Yep, they were definitely being watched. He nodded at one of the PAs not-so-subtly watching them pass and he turned red, turning abruptly back to his work and nearly dropping the roll of duct tape in his hands. Shawn smirked.

"She’s sixteen, Shawn!" Gus cried.

He shook his head. Gus just didn’t think about these things in the right way. "So? Age doesn’t factor into attractiveness! Besides, she’s not sixteen any _more_."

"That’s messed up, Shawn."

"Whatever. It doesn’t matter what movies you pull out of your butt, dude, none of them are as absurd as _this_. Have you _seen_ the mothership?" He jabbed a finger at the set. "One word for you, dude. _Bananas_."

Gus harrumphed, crossing his arms, but his eyes kept sliding back toward the spaceship. A smug smile crossed Shawn’s face. He knew Gus was trying his best not to admit to himself that those wings _did_ look like bananas.

"Come onnn," Shawn teased. "Admit it. You see those wings and want Chunky Monkey." His head tilted. "Or Runts." His gaze grew distant.

Gus rolled his eyes and smacked Shawn on the arm. "Focus, Shawn."

Shawn jumped and shook himself. "I am focused, Gus. I’m like a laser-sight. Like a surgeon doing deep-tissue brain surgery."

"Uh huh." Gus didn't sound convinced. Probably because he wasn't. "You need to figure out who— _besides_ Gabe—could be the killer."

Shawn made a face. "So now we’re not partners?"

"Not when you falsely accuse my favorite director of being a murderer," Gus said, scowling in a way that sent a twinge right through the middle of Shawn’s chest. He shoved the feeling away roughly.

Stopping in his tracks he said, "Gus, have you ever heard the expression ‘fair-weather’ friends?"

"Have you ever heard the expression 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'?" Gus shot at him in return.

Shawn stared for a moment. "Yes. But what does that have to do with this?" His expression grew serious, even though Gus probably knew it wasn’t. "Are you saying that you’re my enemy now?"

Gus just kept staring back, chin tilted upward. "Shut up, Shawn." They stood there, just staring intensely in one another’s directions until finally, Gus’ eye twitched, his eyes blinking closed. He made a huffy noise of annoyance and Shawn’s mouth curled into a smirk as he turned to walk again.

He fell back into their conversation easily. "Maybe it's Drew."

Gus' eyebrows scrunched up. "Drew? Based on what?"

Shawn shrugged. "Based on the fact that his name was the first thing I thought of? Gus, we don't have _any_ evidence to connect _anyone_ to these crimes. Or did you miss that during the commercial break?"

Gus deflected his negativity easily. "Sure we do. It _could_ be Samantha," he pointed out.

Now Shawn's face scrunched up.

"And you’re basing this conclusion on…?"

"Well, she has motive, Shawn." This from the man who was afraid _he_ was going to get them kicked off the set. Oh, the irony.

"She does?" he said aloud, his skepticism heaped into his voice with a large heaping-tool. "Since when? I think _I_ missed that during the commercial break."

"She could be trying to get publicity. You know, like 'bad publicity is still publicity'?" They had reached the catering cart and he slipped into the small line in front of the huge table, already eyeing the food spread over it with a look like a rabid chinchilla with the munchies.

Shawn scoffed at that with a raspberry sound, scanning the area for his much-hoped-for smoothie. "Gus, bad publicity doesn't help if your starring role gets killed in production."

Gus half-shrugged, scooping chunks of watermelon onto a plate. "Okay, maybe."

"Besides, I can feel it in my gut. It's not her." His lips pushed out in a pout. No _smoothies_? "What about Syd?"

Gus snorted. "Syd, Eliza's officially endorsed stalker? Yeah, right. He's too busy making goo goo eyes and composing odes to her toes. He'd never try to _kill_ her."

Shawn nodded in agreement, eyes raking over the tables for another treat. "He’s a textbook case of ‘whipped’." He proceeded to make the whip-crack noise and tacked on a faint whinny that had Gus rolling his eyes. Something bright and yellow caught Shawn’s eye on the table and he moved up behind Gus, mouth already watering.

Gus turned toward him and said in a low voice, "You know, while we’re talking about case details, how about you explain to me how you managed to forget about the dead guy when you were accusing Gabe of being a murderer?"

Shawn’s face went blank, his hands freezing on the plates and spoons. "Dead guy?"

Gus rolled his eyes and said irritably, "Yeah, Shawn, you know, Vern? He dripped blood all over you?"

"Oh, right," Shawn said absently, "that." A small frown creased his face. "I didn’t _forget_ , Gus," he said, but the little frown grew a little deeper. He started spooning pineapple chunks onto a plate.

"What does _that_ mean?" Gus demanded.

"What do you think it means?" Shawn retorted, but he was still distracted.

Gus gave him a good hard look. "You totally forgot didn’t you, Shawn? And now you’re trying to cover it up."

Shawn’s eyebrows pulled together in toward the middle of his forehead. "I am shocked and offended that you would say something like that to me. Shocked, and _offended_."

Gus glared. "Shawn."

"Gus," Shawn replied.

"Shawn," Gus repeated, tone a little harder.

"Just because you say it louder and in a different tone doesn’t make it mean anything different to me, Gus." He gazed innocently back at him and stuffed a huge spoonful of dripping pineapple into his mouth.

Gus’ angry-face was firmly in place when he started to reply, but Shawn was saved by the appearance of the 2nd 2nd AD.

"Hey! Shawn! Gabe wants to see you on set." She nailed him with a pointed look. "Now."

Shawn sighed, swallowed, and muttered to himself, "What is with all these instant gratification demands?"

2nd 2nd AD girl gave him another pointed look though and he sighed, waving a hand at Gus. "You’re due for a call into work, aren’t you? I’ll find you later."

Gus harrumphed, prompting Shawn to roll his eyes. He decided to take that as an affirmative and jogged off after the retreating back of the 2nd 2nd AD.

Gus was no fun right now anyway.

~ * ~

"Gabe! Buddy! What’s up?" Shawn asked as he and the 2nd 2nd AD approached him where he was breathing down the necks of those in Video Village. Shawn’s voice was deliberately bright.

Both the 2nd 2nd AD and Gabe shot him poisonous looks for it. He would definitely have to consider her for "sycophantic to the point of murder". The smile on his face grew more genuine in response to their hostility. Gabe stepped out from under the small awning, his head leaning in toward Shawn and one pudgy hand wrapping around his elbow. Shawn graciously allowed the smaller man to pull him away from the thickest clumps of people. He plastered on his best ‘yes, of course I’m listening, mhm, mhm’ face.

"I’ve had it up to _here_ with you, okay, Spencer?" the squat director said, hand making a vicious slashing motion just under his chin. The motion caused the thick black frames propped on his nose to slide down a little and he shoved them back into place, glaring up at Shawn. "You’re only here because Eliza—" the name of his leading lady dripped with disdain and hatred "—refused to start filming if you weren’t kept on _. I_ don’t like you," he clarified unnecessarily.

Shawn pursed his lips, eyebrows flicking upward in acknowledgement. "I can see that."

Gabe scowled and jabbed him in the exact same spot Sam had. Jeez, what was that about? Was there a guidebook somewhere for angry rants that gave specific spots for point-making finger jabbing, or what? "I don’t want you messing around, causing more problems on my set."

"Me? Dude, did you miss the whole thing about there being a kill—"

The finger jabbed again and Shawn winced, a hand moving to cover the throbbing spot. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you—"

"You couldn’t throw a day-old kitten," Shawn muttered.

"—so I’ve assigned PA number ten to make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be doing what you’re supposed to be doing and staying out of trouble. Got it?"

Shawn made a face, still rubbing at his chest. "Yeah, I got it. Can you put away the dagger finger now?"

Gabe just glared at him and barked over his shoulder, "Ten!"

Peering over Gabe’s head to get a look at the tool-belt wearing, headset-yelling, set slave who was going to be stalking him from now on, Shawn fancifully expected to see a British man in a brown pinstriped suit and Chuck Taylors with ridiculously wild hair. Instead, it was a gangly kid with glasses and a haughty expression on his face. Shawn grimaced.

" _You_ can call me Stuart," he said imperiously. Shawn had to stifle a sharp, surprised laugh. He had _braces_.

Releasing the laugh into a broad smile, Shawn put his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels and saying, "No problem, Stewie. By chance, is your dad named Peter?"

"Stuart," he repeated coldly, eyes narrowing. Shawn choked down another laugh. It was faint, but there was some definite Sylvester the Puddy Tat action going on there.

"What about a dog? Brian? Maybe? Yes? No?"

Stuart’s face started to turn red.

"Gabe, we’re all set up!" the AD shouted from on set.

Shooting one last squinty eyed look at Shawn, Gabe said, "Be careful, Spencer. You’re being watched."

With that mildly ominous statement, he turned on his heel, shouting, "Okay, people! Quiet on set!"

The AD echoed the order, both to the set and into his headset, which then set off a chain reaction, "Quiet on the set!" bouncing around from every direction like verbal pinballs.

Stuart gave Shawn a haughty look and then did his duty, shouting, directly into Shawn’s ear, "Quiet on set!"

"Ow, dude," Shawn protested and Stuart hissed at him.

"I said, _quiet_ on _set_."

Shawn sighed.

This was going to get old in a hurry.

~ * ~

Re-locating Gus turned out to be a lengthy endeavor. Eliza, in direct contrast to Gabe, had grown _more_ infatuated with him after the whole misaccusation fiasco. She had her obsequious little PA Syd using Stuart as a GPS locator, finding him in between scenes so she could drape around his neck like an exceptionally clingy and flirtatious scarf. He’d never been so creeped out by bold sexual advances in his life.

Right now, she was making her advances in the space between the actor’s trailers and the equipment trailers.

He forced a laugh, smothered a wince as one of Eliza’s nails caught on the ridge of stitching on his neck, and wiggled away from her other hand, which had started sneaking fingers up underneath the hem of his shirt. "Eliza—"

"What’s the matter, Shawn?" she purred, reaching out for him again. He danced out of her reach, nearly landing on his ass after tripping over a spool of wire. "You know," she said, her expression growing even more coy, "I bet if I fussed enough, we could get Sam to upgrade you to the love interest. You have a little acting experience, don’t you?"

He backed into the side of a trailer and found himself cornered. Eliza’s grin turned feral as she closed in on him, sliding one hand around his back and then slipping it downward, taking a cheek in hand and squeezing.

Shawn jerked, squeaking in startled surprise and started squirming down the length of the trailer, ignoring the hot threads of pain it shot down the right side of his body, hands raised as though against an assailant—which, well, she _was_.

"Dude, Eliza, don’t get me wrong, but—" Her wandering hands wandered a little too far and he grabbed hold of her wrists, his face flushing as he yanked her hands away from his body. "Seriously," he hissed, and maybe there was a little more desperation in his tone than he would have liked, but— "I like a little promiscuity as much as the next guy, but not with my parole officer and your boyfriend standing here _watching_. Also, I draw the line at getting involved with people already in relationships."

Stuart’s disapproving scowls from little more than five feet away were bad enough without Syd lurking in the shadows between two trailers, watching them with a black look on his face.

Eliza hmmed out a little laugh, her fingers waggling in his face, reaching out to try and brush against skin. "A gentleman, too, how sweet." She leaned forward and Shawn pulled back just in time to avoid her lips. "Syd wouldn’t mind one bit, you know," she whispered huskily at him.

Shawn’s eyes widened in a mixture of panic and horror.

And then, his saving grace.

" _Shawn_!"

"Gus!" he yelped and with that distraction, managed to slip away from Eliza, hurrying to meet Gus. "Dude, you’ve gotta help me!" he hissed, ducking behind his best friend.

Gus smiled politely at Eliza and waved as she straightened up, patting her hair. Syd slunk out of the shadows to join her like a humpless, jealousy-ridden Igor. Eliza smiled at Gus and then looked at Shawn, winking.

"We’ll talk later, Shawn," she said and sauntered off with Syd dogging at her heels.

"Dude!" Shawn whined. "She just molested me! I feel violated!" He shuddered.

Gus rolled his eyes. "You would have to have something to violate to be violated, Shawn."

Shawn whined. "I’m serious, Gus! I think she’s going to try and rape me." He looked up at Gus through wide, imploring puppy-eyes.

Gus ignored them, his own eyes making another circuit around his head. "She weighs a hundred and twenty pounds, Shawn. If she manages to rape you, you let her do it."

Shawn pouted. "I’m going to tell Jules. She’ll protect me." He got out his phone to make it clear he was Not Kidding.

"You do that, Shawn," Gus said, unconcerned. "I’m sure she’s not mad about the whole false-accusation thing anymore."

Shawn made a face.

"You’re a creep, Spencer," Stuart interjected from behind them, tone scathing.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Nobody asked you, Stewie."

" _Stuart_ ," he grit.

Shawn fluttered a hand at him and Gus gave him a once over before looking at Shawn. "Who is this?" he asked.

Shawn sighed heavily. "PA number ten."

" _Stuart_."

"Gabe assigned him to me as a babysitter to ‘keep me out of trouble.’" He flapped a hand rather than actually bothering to make the quoting gesture and looked at the screen of his phone with a little frown. He’d missed a call. From his dad.

Gus snorted and looked back at Stuart. "I’m sorry."

Stuart sniffed primly, clutching his clipboard to his chest. "Thank you."

Shawn pursed his lips and put the phone to his ear.

"What?" Gus said defensively. "I do it all the time, Shawn. It’s not easy."

"I’m thirty-years-old!" he informed Gus, listening as his voice mail went through the usual spiel. "I don’t need anybody to babysit me!"

"Says you," Gus retorted.

" _You have, no, new messages_ ," a stilted woman’s voice told him and he rolled his eyes. Of course not.

Stuart cleared his throat, waving the clipboard in his hand between them. "Hey. Shut up. No one cares. Scene eighty-four is next and you’re due in wardrobe. Get moving."

Gus raised an eyebrow at him and Shawn let out an explosive sigh. "You see what I have to put up with?"

~ * ~ 

They got their copies of the most recent sides while they were in make-up. As soon as he was permitted to move both hands, Shawn began flipping through them, scoffing and snorting in disbelief. The make-up artist working on him found his reactions amusing.

Gus did not.

"It’s not funny, Shawn. Why are you laughing?" he demanded. He flinched, earning an exasperated huff from the make-up artist trying to trace the lashes of his eyes with eyeliner.

Shawn rolled his eyes, flopping in exasperation. "Are you serious, Gus? Dude, even _I_ can’t keep up with it!"

Gus scoffed, shaking his head in a disgruntled manner. After being chastised by the woman with the eyeliner pen held inches from his eye, he froze again. "Oh, like _that_ means anything."

Shawn cleared his throat, shot a pointed look at Gus, and then lifted the little wad of pages, reading aloud, "Constantina calls Antonius and then in an eerily Independence Day moment, she gapes up at the enormous flying saucer descending on Rome." Both make-up artists were now trying to stifle laughter behind their hands. Shawn just _looked_ at Gus.

"What?" he said, flustered but unwilling to concede anything.

  
"Seriously, Gus?" Shawn demanded. "What the hell were these people on when they wrote this?!"

"They weren’t _on_ anything, Shawn, you’re just—"

"Machine guns, Gus!" Shawn burst. "Roman soldiers with machine guns! _In Ancient Rome._ I know history wasn’t my best subject, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t have MACHINE GUNS IN ANCIENT ROME."

Gus’ face pinched. "Don’t judge the script writer’s creativity, Shawn."

Shawn huffed out a breath. "Gus, there’s creative and then there’s cracked. And this guy is totally and completely CRACKED."

Gus opened his mouth to reply but Shawn was already pushing on.

"If he were an egg, his yolk would be dripping off the countertop."

The make-up artists had stopped working by now, wracked with giggles. Gus scowled. "You always judge the stuff I like, Shawn. This is going to be a good movie—"

"You’re right, Gus," Shawn cut in. "It’s totally normal for the Roman army to have jet packs."

"Okay, Shawn!" Gus snapped. "I get it! This movie is stupid and inaccurate and you hate it! Why don’t you just go home if it bothers you that much?! Why do I have to like only what you think is cool?!"

The trailer fell suddenly into silence, Shawn gaping open-mouthed at Gus.

Glancing between the pair, the make-up artists made a hasty retreat, vanishing out the trailer door, which shut with a snap behind them.

"Good going, Shawn," Gus muttered sullenly, crossing his arms.

Shawn felt that now familiar tightening of panic pulling at his chest, his throat, making it hard to breathe. "Gus," he said, and the word came out strangled.

Gus turned then and looked at him. After a moment, the anger faded from his face, replaced by vast annoyance and exasperation. He rolled his eyes. "Shawn, I’m not going to quit being your best friend now, just because you’re an idiot. It would just be nice if you could give the movie-bashing a rest once in awhile. I _do_ like it, you know, stupid and inaccurate or not."

The tension went out of Shawn’s chest in a rush that was almost as painful as when it had come. "Yeah," he breathed. "Okay, I can do that." There was a beat of silence and then, awkwardly, "Sorry."

Gus just punched him in the arm, harder than was strictly necessary—as always—smearing the make up there.

Shawn groaned and though it took some effort to keep his voice playful, he managed, whining, "Guus! Now they’re gonna hafta do it all over again!"

Gus grinned at him wickedly. "I know."

Shawn huffed and moaned the way he was expected to until Gus vanished out through the door. He went quiet then, his eyes and his expression dropping.

He was starting to think he might never reach the end of this tight wire.

~ * ~ 

When he was finally released from the clutches of the make-up artists, he stepped out of the trailer, not expecting to see Gus there. But he was, strolling slowly back and forth, talking into his cell phone. A tangle of anxiety Shawn hadn’t even realized he was holding on to unwound in a hurry and a huge grin broke across his face. He bounded down the steps.

"Yes, sir, I’ll be ready," Gus was saying into his phone. He looked up as Shawn approached and smiled. "Everything here will be all wrapped up by then. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You too, sir." He flipped the phone shut, looking pleased.

Shawn grinned at him, bouncing around on his toes, his gladiator sandals slapping at his heels. "Are you being an amazing little pharmaceutical salesman?"

Gus regarded him seriously, one eyebrow raised. "I’m always amazing pharmaceutical salesman, Shawn."

  
Shawn’s grin felt fit to break his face. "Yeah, you are!"

Glancing down at the freshly redone make-up on Shawn’s arm, he extended a hand, flexing it just over the skin. "Maybe I should just—"

"Dude, no way!" Shawn exclaimed, yanking away. Gus laughed.

"What are you two _doing?_ " Stuart demanded shrilly, appearing from seemingly nowhere. "You should be on set! _Go!_ " he howled.

Shawn and Gus shared a look, grinned, and then proceeded to bump fists as Stuart blazed between them, still squalling.

Maybe the tight rope was more of a wooden plank.

He could handle a wooden plank.

~ * ~ 

The set for the next scene had been set up just to the side of the enormous flying saucer and the area thrummed with activity as people bustled around, getting it ready for the ship’s spectacular film debut. Shawn thought maybe it would look decently cool, once filmed in the right light and then edited in post-production.

Then he got another good look at it.

He snorted. Yeah, right. And he and Lassie were gonna get married and make beautiful babies.

"Guster, you’re over there," Stuart said, pointing to a crowd of people to the right of the spaceship where the 2nd 2nd AD was giving one-armed orders. "He’ll give you more specific directions." He turned a glare on Shawn. " _You_ follow me."

Shawn and Gus parted with a fist bump, Stuart glowering at them and tapping his foot with deliberate impatience.

"Stewie," Shawn said, looping an arm around his shoulders and reveling in the way they tensed, "You really need to lighten up, dude."

Stuart shrugged him off, stalking ahead to point at a spot directly beneath the giant disco ball ship. "You’ll be right here with Miss Eliza," he grit. "Stand there and _don’t move_."

He turned away but stayed close enough that he’d probably notice if Shawn tried to disobey. He sighed, eyes drifting around to look at the scene forming around him. Eliza was fussing at one of the costuming assistants, refusing to hold still long enough for them to stitch something they very obviously wanted to get stitched on her gauzy costume. He was just grateful it was keeping her thoroughly distracted and nowhere near him. He didn’t want to be groped in front of everyone, thank you very much. Maybe it was old-fashioned of him, but he preferred that kind of thing happen behind closed doors.

Several new lights were being brought up, some of them shaded red. The disco ship overhead caught the lights, throwing shards of it back and out across the set and the entire area took on a hellish sort of glow.

Shawn’s eyebrows rose. Well, now… that wasn’t half bad. Eliza in particular looked spectacular under the new lighting. Her hair soaked in the light, turning into what almost looked like a huge blaze of fire on her head, the whites of her eyes and teeth flashing menacingly bright. She was beautiful, and a little bit demonic looking.

A shiver wormed down Shawn’s spine.

Creepy.

His ears were dragged back into usage when Gabe suddenly shouted, "Just let her fix the damned costume, Eliza!"

The dignified movie star turned and stuck her tongue out at him.

From somewhere much closer, he heard another curse. "Jeez, Spencer, you pig!"

Shawn frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You’re sweating all your make-up off! Jeez! You’re not even doing anything!" He turned away before Shawn could do more than gawk at him, hand punching the talk button on his radio. "Stuart to make-up. We need a touch up down here. One of our features is sweating off all his make-up." There was a pause and then a staticky muffled burst that may or may not have been a confirmation. "Copy that," Stuart told the radio.

Hardly thirty seconds later, a woman in jeans carting what looked like an enormous tackle box headed their way. Stuart glared at him. " _Stay_."

Shawn called after his retreating back, "Dude, I’m not a dog!"

He was ignored.

The make-up artist didn’t smile at him, just took his chin in her hand, scrutinizing his face.

"I was born in Canada," Shawn told her. "In an igloo. I get hot easily."

She didn’t bother responding to that. "Hold still."

In the distance, the 1st AD shouted, "Places people!"

The make-up artist wrapped her hand around his chin, her tiny fingers digging into his cheek, mashing his lips into an unattractive pucker. She pushed his head to the side and he winced. Something squishy and cool started patting at his temple.

His neck was bent at just the right angle to see the base of the crane out of the corner of his eye, not so subtly hiding behind the foam stone wall that bordered that part of the set. Movement caught his eye—well, mostly because he couldn't really look anywhere else without straining his eyeballs—and he could just make out the headset mic and overstuffed pouch of a PA, just out of sight behind the wall.

His head was jerked back around and he winced. "’Oo co’ud ee a ‘ittle ‘entlar," he told her.

"Sorry," she said shortly. She didn’t sound sorry at all.

Overhead, the ship creaked.

Shawn’s eyes flicked upward in response and for a second he blinked at what he saw. The enormous ship was swaying gently back and forth. Just slightly, but swinging nonetheless. What the—

The cable holding the spaceship groaned and Shawn’s eyes widened. Oh, _crap_. He pulled out of the make-up artist’s grip, eliciting an irritated, "Hey!"

The cable groaned again and then there was a low, metallic _shoonk_ as something released. The cable started squealing.

Shawn’s heart leapt into his throat and he slung an arm around the now-ranting make-up artist, pushing all his weight into getting the _hell_ out from under the giant disco ball of doom. The make-up artist screamed.

They hit the ground the same time the ship did and it sent up a huge plume of sand, half-burying them. The make-up girl was now whimpering and crying.

Spitting sand out of his mouth, Shawn pushed up and turned to look at the crane control box. It was empty. Of course.

He rolled over further, sand pouring off of his head and back, and a cold chill washed over him.

The huge glass covered ball curved up mere inches from the tips of his sandal-clad toes.

He got to his knees, quickly pulling his feet away from the near-death trap and then there was more sand spraying over him as Gus slid up beside him, shouting.

"Shawn! Shawn! Oh my god!"

He shook his head, grimacing as more sand showered down around him. That was going to be a bitch. "I’m fine, Gus," he said.

"What _happened_?" Gus demanded, reaching to help him brush more sand away.

Gabe screamed a word that wouldn't have been allowed on basic cable under any circumstances and hurled himself out of his chair, pudgy face flushed brick red, his scant, wispy hair sticking out in all directions. " _CAAAAS_!" he howled, "WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?"

The Lead Grip, a clean-shaven, neat brunette man with broad shoulders, burst out from behind the crane, face a mixture of harassment and panic. "I don't know, Gabe, It was fine when we checked it—"

"WELL, IT'S OBVIOUSLY NOT FINE RIGHT NOW."

Gee, it’s nice that everyone’s so worried, Shawn thought. _About the FREAKING SHIP THAT JUST TRIED TO CRUSH ME_.

Cas shot a look back at the downed ship, a pained expression darting across his features. "No, I—"

"IF YOU'D LIKE TO CONTINUE WORKING THIS JOB—AND ANY JOBS IN THE FUTURE—I SUGGEST YOU FIX THIS!"

When Cas didn't move immediately, Gabe spat, "RIGHT _NOW_!"

Over on the far end of the set, the crowd of extras Gus had joined earlier were pacing around in a more and more agitated manner, Drew trying desperately with his one arm to keep their attention. "Please, everybody," he was saying, "Remain calm!"

The extras didn't look particularly inclined to listen to him. Shawn couldn't really blame them considering one of the banana wings had come swooping down little more than five feet away from the ones at the edge of the group.

"This set is _cursed_!" a voice called over the murmur of their growing discontent. Several other voices rose up to agree with the mystery superstitious guy and Drew began to look even more freaked out.

"Everything is _fine_ ," he tried, but the edge of panic to his voice really didn't help his case.

One woman let out a stifled sob and cried, "I don't want to die!"

That seemed to be the final straw.

"We're leaving!" another voice declared and Drew's face blanched.

"But—no—you—you _can't_!" he pled.

He was ignored, two thirds of the crowd dissipating like mist across the set.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn saw as Gabe lunged at a passing grip who was at least six inches taller than he, with a shiny, smooth black head (Why didn't Gus shave his head like that? Then Shawn could call him Cue. Or Eight. Octanoir?) and huge shoulders, which his t-shirt pulled taut over. He was yanked back by Samantha, who put two hands on Gabe's shoulders and ordered calmly, "Gabe, take a deep breath. You know how your blood pressure is."

The director made a few more incoherent noises of fury, glowering at the grip as he hurried past, a vein throbbing at his temple. "These people are complete morons, Samantha!" he snapped. "Where the hell did you find them?"

Samantha frowned, but instead of rising to the barb, said coolly, "Gabe. They can't all be incompetent."

This provoked a large snort out of the director.

"Sure," he said, "and I'm Clark Gable."

Samantha sighed. "We'll station someone at the crane to keep an eye on it. At least the ship wasn't destroyed."

"I have half a mind to quit this insanity right now," Gabe said moodily.

Not far from them, the 2nd 2nd AD was still standing and staring at the downed ship in abject horror, her blonde hair falling limp around her ears.

Shawn sighed. And the crazy-enough-to-kill-for-Gabe thing had been so promising.

She was still staring in disbelief at the crane when Gabe spotted her and the light of fury sputtered back to life in his eyes. "BECKY!" he screamed. Huh. So that was her name. Cute. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? I WANT TO BE FILMING THE _SECOND_ THAT THING IS BACK IN PLACE!"

She flinched as though she had been struck and then immediately shook herself, shooting one last haunted look at the ship. She turned and began firing off orders into her radio, hustling past the crane.

Shawn’s eyes moved back to the controls. "I think somebody just tried to kill me."

Gus gaped at him, horror-struck. "Are you serious?" he hissed.

Shawn glanced over his shoulder to where Eliza was shrieking about her newest brush with death. "That or whoever’s trying to kill her just has really lousy timing."

And it looked like that ‘whoever’ might be a PA.

~ * ~ 

Some of the ship’s bottom mirrors were scuffed up and one had actually cracked in half, but other than that, the thing was largely unharmed. It was quickly hoisted back up to where it belonged, though a guard was stationed by the cabin door.

  
"You’d think they’d have done that in the first place," Shawn commented, wincing as he sat down beside Gus in the sand. Now that the adrenalin was starting to fade from his system, the effects of that Superman-like lunge out of harm’s way was starting to make its price on his body known. He _hurt_.

"A tight ship they do not run," Gus commented, watching as Shawn’s mouth twisted, his hand gingerly patting at the stitches along his back. "Did you tear any?" he asked.

Shawn breathed out sharply and shook his head. "I don’t think so."

"Where’s your Tylenol? Did you take some already?"

Another shake of Shawn’s head. "I didn’t bring any extra."

Gus sighed. "Of course not."

Shawn shot him a nasty look. "I didn’t exactly think I was going to be doing any _leaping out of the way of heavy plummeting objects_ , okay?"

"I didn’t say you should have."

Closing his eyes against the resentful retort on his tongue, Shawn reached up, fingers brushing over the stitches on his neck. His brow pinched. They felt like they were on fire. Dammit. He _hurt_. He didn’t want any stupid lectures on how he should have brought drugs _just in case_. He just wanted the stupid pain _gone_. And this was not helping his stupid, irrational irritation go away. It wasn’t Gus’ fault but it _hurt_ and he just wanted it _gone_. But Gus should _do_ something, dammit. Forcing himself to sound at least sort of civil, he said, "Do you have—"

His eyes opened when an elbow nudged him in the side. He stared at the objects Gus was presenting him.

"—drugs?" The question didn’t have the same tenor it had when it was coming out of his mouth two seconds ago. His eyes jumped to Gus’ face. He was smirking. It was kind of annoying. But—

"Are you going to just stare at them or are you going to take them? You know they only work in your body, right?"

He looked at him, scowling, and then reached for the pills, swallowing them down with closed eyes.

Gus sounded amused when he explained, "They’re ibuprofen, so you should probably go eat something now. But they should help."

Shawn looked down at the sand creeping up under his toes on his sandals. "Thanks."

Stupid Gus.

"Tonight you should take one of the Lortab," Stupid said.

Shawn rolled his eyes and directed a wry, "Thanks, _Mom_ ," in his direction. "For your information, I’ve been taking one every night."

"Oh," Gus said. "Well, that explains why I feel so rested. I’ve been getting a full night’s sleep."

"Yeah, well, your mom hasn’t been," Shawn retorted.

Gus looked at him, his nose wrinkling. "Really? You went for the ‘your mom’, joke?"

Shawn made a face, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "I’m going to plead compromised mental faculties. I’m in pain."

Rolling his eyes, Gus said, "Uh huh." They were silent for a moment.

"So what are we going to do?" Gus asked. "You’re pretty sure it’s a PA this time?"

Shawn’s head wobbled back and forth a little. "Eighty-five percent?"

"Not great," Gus said.

"But better than failing," Shawn pointed out.

Gus snorted. "That would have flown _before_ the Gabe fiasco. Now you’re gonna have to shoot for an A plus."

Shawn sighed. "Touché, touché."

"So what are we gonna do?"

Shawn shrugged. "Call in an anonymous tip?"

~ * ~ 

"Hello, Santa Barbara police department, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I have a tip for—"

"Shawn? Is that you? Wow, it sure has been a long time since I—"

Shawn punched the END button in a hurry. How did _Buzz_ recognize his voice?  
  
He waited a moment, hoping that Buzz would wander away so someone else would pick up.

"Hello, Santa Barbara Po—"

Shawn hung up again.

Surely Buzz wasn't the _only_ one working the phones.

A redial and a pause for the ringer, then, "Hello, San—"  
  
Dammit.

Okay, well, he couldn't keep calling. Buzz would start to get suspicious.

  
Especially if the same number kept coming up.

  
Oh, hell. Did the police use caller ID?

He looked around for a trash can, then realized it was _his_ cell phone and stuffed it in his pocket.  
  
Then he pulled it back out and shut it off and stuck it back in.

Just in case.

He still needed to call the tip in. Jules and Lassie needed to be down here and they weren't going to come just because he asked them to. Which, by the way? Was so not fair. Okay, yeah, he'd made one little mistake in IDing the suspect. It happened to everyone, right? Didn't the _years_ of him being right cancel that out or something?

He needed someone else to— Ah-HAH!

PA number . . . thirty six? Something in the high double-digits.

Whatever number she was, she was on her cell phone and she was standing far away from the rest of the people in the area right now.

Making his way across the set he tried to think of the best way to convince her that she should help him.

"So, my landlord says he's gonna cut off my water and elecricity if I don't pay him the rest of the rent by tomorrow."  
  
Oooh. That was a possibilty. Lacking class, but certainly effective.  
  
"It's fifty bucks, Shannon! Where the hell am I going to get fifty bucks by—"  
  
She stopped when her eyes latched onto the three bills Shawn was waving in her face.  
  
She turned and looked at him.

He arched an eyebrow and she said, "Shan? I gotta go. I'll call you back." She cut off the call and gave him an appraising look.  
  
"I'm not doing anything illegal or disgusting."  
  
Shawn's face scrunched up. "Good. I'm not going to ask you to. I just need you to make a phone call for me."  
  
Now it was her turn to arch an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh yeah? To who? And why?"

"To the police."  
  
"No." She turned and started to walk away.  
  
"Whoa, wait up!" he said and circled around to cut her off. "It's nothing illegal. I promise."  
  
"So why don't you make the call yourself?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"Because _why?_ "  
  
He scowled. "Dude, I'm offering you fifty bucks to make an anonymous call to the cops and you're going to say no? Really?"  
  
She shrugged. "I could use fifty bucks, but I don't need the hassle of cops."  
  
"Nonononono," he said. "It's not like that. They won't even know! Like I said, anonymous."

"Again, I ask, why don't you make the call yourself?"  
  
"Because I don't like phones?"  
  
The eyebrow went back up.  
  
He sighed. "Look, if I make it an even sixty will you just—"  
  
"Seventy-five."

His mouth hung open for a moment. "Sixty."  
  
"Sixty-five."  
  
"Sixty-one and—" He dug in his pocket. "Forty-three cents."  
  
"Sixty- _five_ and forty-three cents."

His head tilted. "You're going to take my change? You know you're supposed to go _down_ right?"

She shrugged. "I don't need the money that bad."  
  
"Your landlord is going to cut off your power and water. How do you not—"  
  
"Yeah, well, if I buy him a six pack of good beer on the way home tonight he'll give me another week and I get paid in four days." She shrugged. "I just didn't want to have to go to the store."

  
Shawn looked around for another—hopefully cheaper—PA he could bribe, but they had all vanished for some reason.  
  
He sighed. "Fine. Sixty-five and forty-three cents."

She turned back smiling, hand out, waiting until the money was in her hands before asking, "Who am I calling and what am I saying?"

He rattled off the number and she punched it in, but waited before pressing send.  
  
"Ask for Detective Lassiter. Tell him that there was another attempt on Eliza's life. And you saw someone messing with the equipment right before it broke."  
  
Her eyes widened. "You saw someone messing with the equipment?"  
  
He shot her a look. "I thought we agreed no more questions."

"Uh, yeah. That was _before_ you told me you saw someone try to kill Eliza."

Shawn rolled his eyes and dug another thirty-five dollars out of his wallet.  
  
"There" he said. "Even hundred. Now make the call."

She didn't look entirely pleased with her curiosity being left to simmer, but she took the money and made the call.

She fell quiet after repeating the information and then ended it with, "I said I wanted to be anonymous, asswipe," and hung up.

Shawn had a feeling he'd just thrown a hundred dollars down the toilet.

She zoned out in the way all PAs did when they got a call over the headset, then focused on him again. "You need any more phone calls made, I'll be over with at the costume trailer."

He let his head fall back and stared at the sky overhead, wondering if he ought to try another tip with a PA that wasn't also considering a career as a lawyer.

Then a voice caught his attention—really easily since it called his name—and his head snapped back down.  
  
"Shawn! Hi there, darling." Before he quite knew what was going on, Eliza was there, her arm looped in his, trapping him at her side.  
  
"Walk with me?" she asked, needlessly since she was already dragging him forward.

"You know, Eliza, one of the PA's just told me that Gabe was looking for me and—"  
  
She interrupted with a wave of her hand. "Gabe can wait. Syd? Let Gabe know that I'm talking to Shawn and he'll be there just as soon as I am done with him."  
  
"Sure, Eliza."  
  
She flashed a brilliant grin at Shawn. "Fabulous."

He gave a weak one in return. "Yeah. Fabulous." Then he not so discreetly looked around for his own shadow.  
  
What the . . . How the hell had he lost Stewie?  
  
"Oh, I sent him on an errand," Eliza said, turning Shawn's trick back on him and reading his mind. "It'll take him at _least_ half an hour to get back here and then he has to find you." She winked. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Wow. I’m just…so grateful. I…" He trailed off, unable to think of any good way to finish that. His hand curled into a fist, his head dipping down, lips pursing. _Whyyyyyy?_

"Now we can spend some _quality_ time together."

Shawn blinked and then raised his eyebrows, cocking an ear towards her. "I’m sorry, we can do what now?"

Eliza smiled impishly at him and then reached around him to pull open the trailer door that had materialized behind him when he wasn’t paying attention, giving him a good firm nudge up the steps. Shawn shot a helpless look around at the people striding obliviously past and staggered inside, unnoticed. This was not going to end well.

Eliza’s trailer screamed luxury. It was a double-wide, double-long that housed not only a full kitchenette, but a full bathroom and from what he could see down the narrow hallway, a queen-sized bed, fully dressed up with silks and Egyptian cotton and all sorts of other things that he wouldn’t mind rubbing over his skin. The suede couch to his left faced several cabinets which he imagined housed a state-of-the-art entertainment center behind some fancy red wood that he guessed was not as common or well-known as mahogany. The counters in the kitchen were some sort of gleaming marble and all of the appliances were sleek Wolf brand. He couldn’t be absolutely sure, but it looked even bigger than his apartment. It certainly was worth more than his apartment ever had been.

There was a bright pink laptop sitting open on the kitchen countertop and Shawn immediately distanced himself from Eliza by going to it. "Oh, a MacBook," he said as she pulled the door closed. "Do you like it?"

Eliza fluttered her hand dismissively. "I never use it. Syd takes care of all of that computer nonsense for me. I have no patience for emails, or bloorging, or whatever."

Shawn felt a flash of pity for Syd. "You make him use a pink computer?"

"Syd does what I ask him to do," Eliza said and then turned a predatory smile on Shawn.

He reacted defensively and grabbed the computer, hopping up on the counter and placing it as a barrier (flimsy though it might be) between he and Eliza. He picked out the first thing his eyes landed on from the screen—Vern Woo’s name. "Were you and Very close?" he blurted.

Eliza’s expression cooled and she reached forward, pushing the lid of the laptop closed. "Vern, unlike me, abused the technology to spam the cast and crew with mass emails." She pulled the laptop out of his hands, setting it aside on the counter and then leaned forward over his knees with a smile, affording him an excellent view of the cleavage created by her dress. "Let’s focus on _us_."

Shawn leaned back away from her, his eyebrows rising. "Us?"

Her lips pursed into an adorable shape. It was so unfair. Women had all the advantages. Even the crazy ones. "Don’t play coy with me, Shawn. I’m sure you’ve noticed how…" Her eyes raked shamelessly over his body, finally rising to smolder into his own, "…attractive I find you."

Shawn coughed. "Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around? Shouldn’t I be the one obsessively stalking you? I mean, I know I have great hair, but seriously. I’m just an extra."

Eliza winked at him, her fingers creeping up the back of his knee and underneath the hem of his tunic. "Extra _special_ you mean."

Shawn leapt off of the counter away from her prying fingers as though he’d been burned. "Okay! I get now why that move creeps girls out!" A little shudder rippled through his body.

Eliza laughed.

"Aren’t you dating Syd?" Shawn asked, creeping away from her again. She moved forward, trapping him in a corner next to a large cabinet. Jeez, this woman was as single-minded as they came!

"Don’t you want to know what it’s like to be with someone famous?" she countered.

Shawn considered this momentarily. He did in fact want to know what it would be like, but he was thinking more along the lines of Alicia Silverstone than— "No," he lied and ducked out under her arm as she tried to plant a kiss on him.

She pursued him into the widened living room area in the center of the trailer. His hips jerked as she wrapped her hand around his butt and squeeze, groping him _yet again_. He staggered onto the plush bench-couch and Eliza tittered becomingly at him. He barely had time to roll over before she was climbing on top of him.

Oh, great. Now he was cornered unless he wanted to dump her on the floor, and while she was a little bit of a diva and a little overly interested in him, she wasn’t evil or anything and she was pretty hot…

She obviously had some idea where his thoughts were because she grinned down at him and reached up, closing the blinds with a little tug of the pullstring which cast the trailer into a soft orange glow.

"Eliza—"

"Shawn," she purred back at him, stretching out luxuriously across his chest. She reached for his butt again and he blocked her hands.

The woman was a frigging minx.

"You know," he said, clearing his throat as his voice cracked (just a little. Definitely not up into the girly registers. Definitely not.), "It’d be awesome if you could keep your hands North of the Equator."

"Like this?" she murmured into his neck and drew her long fingernails up the back of his neck into his hair, which sent electric tingles zinging along his spine and out into his limbs.

"Uh," he squeaked, "Yeah, uh, no, that’s not exactly what I—"

Her hand wrapped around his neck and before he could even think of stopping her, she had pulled his lips to hers.

Damn she was a good kisser.

All those on-screen kisses had seriously paid off.

After taking a few moments to appreciate what a fine kisser she was, Shawn finally pushed her away.

"Eliza—" he panted.

She kissed him again.

He stifled a noise that may or may not have been moan-like and she tilted her head just enough to part their mouths between kisses. "You taste like—chocolate cake."

"Well—" Shawn said breathlessly, his eyes rolling back in his head slightly as she did something unspeakably fantastic with her tongue, "—I did—have some—a—little while—ago."

"Mm," Eliza said and he just pulled her tighter to him.

Who was he to turn down an awesome make-out session when it dropped down on top of him?

He was just starting to get a little lightheaded from the lack of breathing when the trailer door opened and they turned, chests heaving, to see Syd poking his head inside.

Shawn pushed himself up, eyes widening. "Syd!"

The door closed again in a hurry.

"Where were we?" Eliza murmured, pressing a kiss to the spot beneath his ear. He had to stifle a groan.

In retrospect, maybe this hadn’t been the best way to get her to stop her pursuit of him.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he wiped a hand over his mouth, tilted his head, and said, "Is that watermelon lip balm?"

Eliza smirked at him. "Would you prefer another flavor?"

Shawn bit back the temptation to ask if she had pineapple. "That was fun," he told her. "But, ah, I really shouldn’t—"

She put both hands on his shoulders, adding pressure until he dropped onto his back again with a disgruntled noise of protest. "You fuss too much."

It was a lot harder to feel like he was winning when he was lying on his back, helpless for all intents and purposes. "Look, Eliza—" he started and his frustration was starting to leak out in his voice.

Someone knocked at the trailer door.

Eliza sighed and sat up, calling, "Yes, what is it?"

"Police. Open the door," a voice called peevishly from the other side.

Shawn let his head drop back onto the seat. Oh, thank God. Lassie to the rescue, yet again.

Eliza huffed in annoyance, but began fixing her hair, planting one last kiss on his chest. "We’ll finish this later."

For a moment, Shawn wanted to ask when "later" was. Then he shook himself and sense returned and he sincerely hoped Eliza never got her hands—or any other body parts—on him again.

Eliza got to her feet and he sat up, wiping his face again.

The door swung open and Lassiter said gravely, "Miss Carlisle. We’re investigating claims of another incident."

Shawn coughed and waggled his fingers when Lassiter’s eyes narrowed at him. "I should probably, just, you know—" He pointed at the stairs.

"Please," Lassiter all but growled, stepping just far enough left to let Shawn slide past.

"You’re a lifesaver, dude," Shawn whispered as he stepped past him. Lassiter snorted.

"Just get lost."

Shawn did just that.

~ * ~ 

He didn’t find Gus again until they were gathering on set for their next scene. Gus immediately frowned at him. "Shawn. What’s up with your mouth?"

Shawn swiped a hand over it self-consciously and said, "What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gus."

"You were making out with someone, weren’t you?" Gus said, accusation in his voice.

Shawn sighed. "For the record, I was assaulted. And yes, if you must know—" He smiled and waved when Stewie shot a look at them. (He hadn’t been thrilled when he’d finally caught up to Shawn again fifteen minutes ago.) "—I was making out with someone."

"Who did you hypnotize this time?" Gus asked, disapproving.

"No one!" Shawn protested. "I didn’t have to do anything! She just—threw herself at me!"

"Uh huh."

"I swear, Gus. On my Red Rider BB Gun." He placed a hand over his heart.

Gus’ head pulled back slightly. His eyes narrowed. "You never had a Red Rider BB Gun, Shawn."

"The one I always _wanted_ then," Shawn clarified.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Right. So who was it?"

Shawn’s nose wrinkled and he shifted onto his toes, peering across the set. "Do you think anyone can even see us back here?"

"No, and that’s probably the point," Gus said, his expression turning suspicious. "Who were you making out with?"

Damn. These diversion tactics were supposed to _work_ on Gus.

Shawn’s cheeks turned pink. "I saw Lassie, so the anonymous tip thing worked, though I had to bribe a PA to do it. A hundred bucks! Can you believe that, Gus?"

"Shawn." He was metaphorically digging his heels in and literally staring him down. He sighed. Maybe if he blurted it out in a rush couched between a bunch of other information—

"Eliza. So if Lassie’s here, that probably means Jules is here somewhere, too. I wonder—"

"Quiet on the set!" Stuart barked.

"You made out with Eliza?!" Gus cried and then immediately clapped his hands over his mouth. Stuart glared.

Nope. That hadn’t worked.

Shawn grimaced and stepped closer to Gus, whispering, "Yeah, do you mind? Not _everyone_ needs to know."

"What happened to being creeped out by her, Shawn?" Gus hissed.

"I told you! She attacked me!"

"Oh, please, Shawn—"

"If you two don’t shut up now, I’ll shut you up myself!" Stuart snapped at them, glowering.

Shawn’s eyebrows rose. "Was that a threat, Stewie?"

Stuart grit his teeth and shouted, "ROLLING!"

"I can’t believe you, Shawn," Gus muttered under his breath and then Gabe called action and they thrust their laser spears at the sky and let loose a battle cry.

~ * ~

The scene was a short one. And either they nailed it on the first take, or Gabe was really feeling the pressure to just _get it done_ because there wasn’t a call to reset. The next scene was supposed to be in the same setting with a few minor differences so they were herded off the set so the crew could make those changes.

"What is wrong with you, Shawn?" Gus demanded.

"She jumped me, Gus! What was I supposed to do?" Shawn replied, thrusting his hands out and with them, the spear, and nearly clocking some poor grip.

" _Not_ make out with her?" Gus shot back.

Shawn sighed and then froze in the act of opening his mouth, seeing the one person he had never expected to in a million years.

" _Dad?_ "

The elder Spencer sat in a chair that had been set up directly next to Eliza’s, nibbling a sandwich. He looked up at Shawn’s voice and, after swallowing a bite, replied in a tone that mimicked Shawn’s with deliberate exactness, "Shawn?"

"What are you doing here?"

Henry’s back straightened a little, a physical manifestation of him digging his heels in. "I was invited."

Shawn frowned. "Invited? By who?"

Eliza appeared out of nowhere, grabbing hold of Shawn’s hand. "I invited him!" she said, her voice lit up with delight. "I heard about how supportive he was of you when you were on _Explosion Gigantesca de Romance_ and I thought he’d like to come see you work."

Shawn gaped at her like a deep sea gulper eel and his father smirked.

"Like I said; invited."

After taking a moment to recover from the shock, Shawn said, with very carefully manufactured pleasantness, "Dad, can I see you over here for a second?"

Henry lifted the sandwich he had just taken a bite out of. "Shawn, you can see I’m eating. I’m not going to get up just so you can have a temper tantrum without an audience."

"Dad," Shawn hissed.

Henry took another bite of his sandwich and said to Eliza, "This is delicious by the way."

Eliza beamed. "I made it myself."

Gus snorted and said so that only Shawn could hear, "I saw Syd making that sandwich for her fifteen minutes ago."

"Dad!" Shawn repeated.

"When I’m done with my sandwich, Shawn," Henry told him. "You need to learn some patience, kid."

Shawn let out a little growl of frustration, but he waited, tapping his foot impatiently. Henry looked the two men up and down and then said, "Nice chicken legs, Shawn."

"I do not have chicken legs!" Shawn protested. "I have very well-sculpted legs!"

But his father wasn’t listening. He was instead eyeing Gus with approval. "You pull it off, Gus. Congratulations."

Gus beamed and then shot Shawn a smug look. "See. Even your dad says so, Shawn. I look _good_."

Shawn scowled. "Not cool, Dad."

The second the last bite of the sandwich was in Henry’s mouth, he gestured sharply away from the group. "There, you finished. Can we talk now?"

Henry snorted and wiped his mouth with a napkin, but said, "Yeah, sure, Shawn. We can talk." He got to his feet, grimacing a little bit and then said to Eliza, "Excuse us for a minute."

"Take as long as you need," Eliza said, positively glowing. Then she pointed to a long row of paired (Greek) columns that led to a set of stairs and _those_ led to a painted backdrop of a Roman palace. "You’ll have the most privacy over there."

"Great, fine. Whatever," Henry said. "Come on, kid."

They moved away from the bustling area around the current active set and into the shadows of Constantine’s entryway. Despite his apparent nonchalance, his dad was the one who started talking first. "Shawn, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me?" Shawn repeated.

"You’re taking unnecessary risks ‘to get attention’? You’re on a movie set for God’s sake! How much more att—"

Shawn stared at him. "What are you _talking_ about?"

Henry faltered and then crossed his arms, his jaw leveling. "I’m talking about you continuing to do stupid things that result in more and more hospital visits."

Shawn heaved an exasperated sigh and let his head fall back onto his shoulders. "Dad. When we talk do you even listen to what I say? Somebody is trying to _kill_ Eliza. I just keep winding up in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know, it’s not like I _enjoy_ being injured. Besides, I haven’t been hurt since the helicopter thing." He pulled down the sash over his shoulder. "Would you like to check me yourself?"

Henry grimaced. "No, keep your clothes on."

"Did _Gus_ tell you I was doing it on purpose?" Shawn asked incredulously.

Henry’s mouth pursed as he considered what Shawn had said. "No, Eliza."

"Eliza? Why are you listening to Eliza?"

"You don’t exactly have a history of keeping me in the loop when you’re hurt. And what reason does she have to lie?"

"Maybe because she’s crazy? Who knows what’s going on in that fame-soaked brain of hers. It didn’t creep you out that she just called you out of the blue?"

Henry gave a little nod of assent. "It was a little weird." He gave Shawn a once over. "She said something about a spaceship nearly crushing you."

Shawn wrinkled his nose. "Okay, that part’s true."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Of course it is."

"I can’t control murdering whack jobs, Dad. That one’s not on me." He smirked. "I can’t believe you’re here to—"

Without warning, his dad lunged toward him and shoved.

Shock rendered any sort of useful reaction pretty much impossible.

Shawn staggered backwards between two of the pillars. One foot jammed down into the loose sand on the other side and his momentum flung him, ass over teakettle.

He landed hard on his shoulder and it shrieked with pain. Air exploded awkwardly out of his lungs and he lay there for a moment, dazed.

Behind him, something cracked with a sound like a peal of thunder, and, with a small burst of sand, his father dropped to the ground beside him, limp.

Horror flooded through him. "Dad?!"

 


	4. Chapter 4

"Dad?!" Shawn exclaimed. He sucked in a breath, coughing, and looked over his shoulder to find the backdrop had collapsed, setting off the pillars like dominoes. The entire set had caved in on itself.

He pushed onto his hands and knees, hissing as that renewed the pain that had taken over his shoulder. He shuffled over to his dad's side, working valiantly to ignore it.

Blood oozed down Henry's temple.

"Dad? Dad, this is so not cool. You're not allowed to come down here and start stealing my dramatic moments," he muttered, eyes darting down toward Henry's chest. "Wake _up!"_

For once, Henry did as asked. He groaned, grimacing as he turned his face into the sand.

"And I'm the one putting himself in unnecessary danger," Shawn muttered, leaning back with a quavering intake of breath.

"Quit grumbling," Henry muttered, sitting up with the help of Shawn's hand on his arm. He put a hand to his head and grimaced again. "It was going to crush you."

Shawn relaxed considerably. If his dad was up for griping at him, then the injury couldn't be that bad. "Gee," he said wryly, "that sounds familiar."

"I thought I told you to shut up." Henry glanced at bloodied fingertips and then looked up at Shawn, giving him a good intense once-over. His eyes locked on Shawn's shoulder. "You're bleeding."

Shawn made a face. "That happens when you pull stitches after impacting with the ground."

"Don't be a smartass." Henry leaned forward, pulling back the collar of Shawn's tunic to peer at his stitches.

"Don't be such a mommy, Dad," Shawn whined, flapping his hand at him. "It's emasculating." A commotion over at the other end of the row of pillars caught his attention.

It sounded an awful lot like Eliza was having hysterics.

Shawn pushed to his feet, peering toward the noise. He held out a hand to help his dad up. "Come on, I need to see what's going on."

The pair of them followed the edge of the ruined set to where Eliza could be heard wailing about a broken arm. Shawn's eyebrows rose. Well, that confirmed that it had been part of the murder attempts.

And it seemed like he was starting to have a change in luck.

~ * ~

As it turned out, Eliza's arm was _not_ broken, just bruised.

She had been clipped by one of the falling pillars-as Henry had-and had gotten a nasty bruise on her forearm. Shawn was more convinced than ever that something fishy was going on on the set of _It Came From Space to Conquer Rome._

Production had halted yet again, much to Gabe's displeasure and Samantha's mounting despair, but there was little that could be done with the next set in shambles and the leading lady in hysterics. Shawn had seen her screaming at poor, creepy Syd and hurling things at his head in a diva-like manner as Gus had led him and his father out to the parking lot for yet another ER visit.

Fortunately, Shawn had only torn out two stitches and the gushing head wound his father had sported didn't even need real stitches, just little sticker ones and a thorough cleaning. Shawn was disgruntled by how the bruise and the ‘stitches' made his dad look like a rugged action star. What was with everybody looking cooler than him lately?

"Whoever's doing this, Shawn," Henry said as he climbed out of Gus' car in the driveway to his house, "is a complete idiot. And complete idiots are sometimes even more dangerous than the smart guys. You need to be careful."

Shawn scoffed. "When am I not careful?"

Henry snorted and shut the door in his face. Shawn stared at it.

"That was a legitimate question. And I was going to get out of the car," he said.

"I think that was the point," Gus told him. He pulled out of the driveway before Shawn could demand that he get out and let him move to the front. Shawn was distracted, however, chewing on his lower lip as he thought about the case.

"You know what I can't believe?" he finally said and Gus glanced at him in the rear-view mirror.

"What? That we're still doing this even though you keep nearly getting killed?"

"No, Gus," Shawn said, waving him off dismissively. "That Eliza called my _Dad_. Not only that, she called him and invited him down to the set."

Gus nodded in thoughtful agreement. "Yeah, that is pretty weird."

"Not only that," Shawn said, holding up a finger, "but she said she'd heard my dad came down to _support_ me."

Gus snorted. "Where exactly is she getting her information from?"

Shawn tossed up his hands and then hissed and pulled them back down. "Yes! Thank you! It's just _weird_."

"I hear you," Gus said.

Shawn shook his head. "I'd want to kill her if I was the killer."

Gus snorted and bobbed his head. "You know that's right."

They lapsed into silence again as Shawn thought about everything that had been happening, trying to piece together some idea of what the _hell_ was going on. It was Gus who finally said, "So what are you going to do now?"

"Vern was our murder victim, right? Well, while I was trying to keep Eliza from molesting me in her trailer, I found out that Vern sent mass emails to the cast and crew regularly. I'm thinking one of those emails might have something useful in them. Maybe he harassed someone one too many times."

"And how are you going to get a hold of these emails?"

"Well, if I'm going to be treated like one of Eliza's boytoys, I'm thinking there have gotta be a few perks, right?"

Gus regarded Shawn gravely in the rear-view mirror. "Seriously, Shawn. Have you ever heard the term _manwhore?"_

~ * ~

Okay, sure. So making out with an actress and letting her cop the occasional feel was kind of a sleazy way of getting one's information, but surely it didn't qualify him for _manwhore_ status, did it?

Shawn sighed as he unlocked the door to Eliza's trailer and shouldered inside. She had all but thrown the key at him when he had sidled up behind her and murmured in her ear that he wanted to set up a "surprise" for her. It was definitely a little weird being the chasee instead of the chaser, but hey, whatever got him what he needed.

Oh, god. He _was_ a manwhore.  
  
He flicked on the light as the door closed behind him, glancing around until he spotted the eye-searingly pink laptop sitting on the table near where Eliza had accosted him earlier that afternoon. "Sweet." He slid into the booth, spinning the laptop around and pushing the screen open. The laptop was already on. It was password protected, but it took Shawn all of three seconds of thinking to try ELIZA, which, of course, was correct.  
  
"Seriously," he muttered to himself, "What's the point of a password if you make it that obvious?" He decided to ignore the fact that his own password was PINEAPPLE.  
  
Fortunately, Eliza used the system's provided email application so Shawn didn't have to go hunting through her history to try and figure out which email she used. A few clicks and he typed in Vern's name. The screen immediately filled with emails from the deceased make-up guy, each of them with a subject in caps-lock. The majority of them just looked annoying. Reminders of when people were supposed to be in his trailer, reminders about parties, complaints about everything from noise to lack of professionalism to hogging the best sandwiches at the buffet. He sounded like a pain in the ass, but beyond that, Shawn wasn't seeing anything that screamed _MURDER MOTIVE!  
  
_ That was, until he found one with the subject line: BRATTY WHORE. Intrigued, he clicked on the email. The first thing that popped up was a huge photo of Eliza, looking as though she'd just rolled out of bed, make-up smeared across her cheeks, her hair fit for a group of nesting birds. Shawn couldn't help a little laugh. Compared to her normal perfect coif, that image was pretty hilarious.  
  
Shawn was scrolling down to get a look at the message below the image when something made a quiet _thunk_ against the door of the trailer. He glanced up, frowning. What the...?  
  
He got to his feet, moving to the door and stopped, frown deepening even further when he heard another noise, this time from beneath the trailer. "What the hell?" He twisted the door handle and pushed, but the door didn't budge. He froze.  
  
"Uh oh."  
  
The trailer lurched forward and he staggered, dropping to his knees. "Very big _uh oh!_ "

Another lurch and the trailer started rolling slowly forward. "Aw, man, _really?_ " Shawn breathed. He scrambled to his feet, moving to look out the front window and nearly bit his tongue when he saw the waterline trundling closer and closer. He sprinted back to the door, slamming his shoulder into it in an attempt to break it open. The door gave a little, but otherwise remained unmoved by his attempt. Shawn's shoulder, however, responded with an epic bitch-fit, pain sparking along the bone so hot his gaze went white momentarily.

"STUPID!" he shouted at himself when he had enough presence of mind again to do so. That was also about the time that the trailer jerked as though striking something; Shawn let out a whimpering hiss as his body hit the cabinets. The sound of the waves seemed much louder than they had just moments ago. Shawn cursed and the waves began pulling at the trailer, moving it in gentle rocking motions as they tried to coax the big vehicle to come out just a little further toward sea with them. Water began seeping in under the door. Outside the front windshield-only blackness.  
  
Well, now he knew for sure that he was making someone nervous.

Gritting his teeth, Shawn hoisted himself to his feet with the help of the counter. If it hadn't been for the whole "being swept out to sea" thing, the back and forth motion the trailer was now engaged in would have made great inspiration for a nap. But, having no desire to sleep with the fishes, Shawn crammed his hand into his pocket, wincing at the sharp ribbon of pain that zinged up through his arm, and yanked out his phone, mashing the buttons to key in Gus' number.

Gus had already picked up when the phone reached his ear. "What the hell, Shawn! I look away for two minutes and suddenly Eliza's trailer is drifting out to sea! What is going on?!"

An especially strong rock of the trailer off-balanced Shawn and he hissed as his hip made painful contact with the counter top in the miniature kitchen. "Clearly-" he panted, "someone doesn't want me figuring out-what I'm figuring out."

"And what exactly is it you're figuring out, Shawn?" Gus asked.

Another rock of the trailer sent him staggering, the distinct sound of a splash meeting his ears when his foot met with the floor again. The water was now creeping up around the soles of his shoes and every so often a wave would hit the front of the trailer, splashing up over the windshield. "I don't know-something-maybe nothing-but clearly I'm-OW!" A muffled swear word slipped out from between his teeth as he grabbed at his hip, which he had banged on the counter _again._

There was a brief pause on the phone and then Gus said, "Shawn, are you still inside the trailer?"

"That reminds me why I was calling," Shawn replied breathlessly. He paused, eyeballing the water that was now chilling his toes and said with bright, secretarial pleasantness, "Gus, I'm still inside the trailer."

"Shawn! Oh my- You have to get outta there, are you crazy?!"

Shawn grabbed hold of a towel rack to keep from tumbling sideways and retorted, "Crazy? No. And I don't think this is the time to talk about my purchasing the entire series of MacGyver off of e-Bay with your credit card again. Perhaps later, when I am dry and on land and, most importantly, not about to DROWN in a sabotaged trailer, we can discuss the issue!"

"I wasn't even going to bring that up, Shawn!" Gus exclaimed, all indignation.

"Oh, you were going to bring it up, dude. I'm psychic. I could see the words forming in your chocolate-covered braincells."

"How many times do we have to have this argument? You're not actually psychic, Shawn! Now find something to break one of the windows and get the hell out of there before you wind up trapped in a sinking trailer slowly filling up with water in the middle of the Pacific Ocean! I am not going to be the one explaining _that_ to your dad!"

"Fine!" Shawn retorted snappishly, snatching up a cooking pot that was poking out of the tiny sink. "Hold on a second while I bash open a window!"

"Fine!" Gus shot back.

Sufficiently riled up by his heated back-and-forth with Gus, Shawn hurried to the front of the trailer, drew back the pot, and swung it at the driver's side window.

It clanged off of the glass, ricocheted back towards his face, and nearly clocked him in the nose, sending vibrations all the way up into his shoulder. "Oh, come on!" he cried at the window.

People could break through glass with one hand in the movies, with a pan it should be a piece of cake!

"What happened?" Gus demanded.

Shawn shook the pot, giving it a dirty look before tossing it aside. "Make a note of this, Gus: glass is not as easily broken as Jack Slater led us to believe."

"Of course it isn't, Shawn! Most of the glass in motor vehicles is tempered glass! It's made to withstand blunt impact and to fragment into pieces that won't cut you to ribbons! Find something else!"

"Gee, Gus, thanks so much for that gold nugget of an idea wrapped up in a totally unnecessary lesson about car windows. I was considering just hanging out on Eliza's pink faux-vinyl upholstered dining room seats until you offered up that little gem of wisdom!" He rooted through the cabinets, slamming open the doors, searching for something metal that might be a little denser and more useful than a cheap cooking pot.

As he searched the lower cabinets, a sheet torn out of the daily sides slipped off of the slowly rocking counter, landing between Shawn's knees on the surface of the water. Something was scrawled across the surface in bold red writing and Shawn frowned, momentarily distracted from his predicament. He grabbed the piece of paper as it started to drift away in the current; it read, _THIS ENDS TOMORROW._

A chill wriggled through his gut. "Gus! I found something-"

"SHAWN! Are you out of your damn mind?! Stop messin' around and get out of there!"

"Enghhhhh!" Shawn bounced in place for a few seconds, eyes darting from the darkness outside, to the note in his hand, and then back outside. Finally, he came to a decision, hissing, " _Man_ ," and cramming the note into his pocket.

By the time he located the emergency tool box under one of the seats, the water inside the trailer was up around his knees and the waves outside were breaking near the middle of the windshield. Yanking out the wrench in the tool kit, Shawn moved toward the front windshield again. The furious lather he'd built up bickering with Gus dribbled out of him as he faced the blackness on the other side. He bit his lip to contain a whimper.

He didn't want to do this. He really, _really_ didn't want to do this.

The longer he waited though, the further out the trailer could get dragged. And he could only swim so far.

"Shawn," Gus said, and he sounded worried now rather than irritated. "Are you still there? Did you break the window?"

"I'm still here," he croaked. His tongue swiped across his dry lips. "Just, uh, trying to decide where to hit it."

"The windshield is weakest in the center." And then, his voice taking on a real note of anxiety, "Get out of there, Shawn. If it gets much deeper you're gonna get dragged out even faster."

Shawn stared at his reflection, dark water lapping at its cheekbones, sweat glistening on a creased forehead. "Gus-"

"Just remember the summer as a lifeguard, Shawn. Don't panic, take deep breaths, and make sure you look for the lights on the shore before you start swimming. And do it already!"

Grimacing, Shawn closed his eyes and swung.

The windshield shattered as the heavy wrench smashed into it, but before Shawn could even think about any feelings of triumph, water exploded into the trailer's interior, slamming into his chest and knocking him off of his feet. His cellphone vanished from his grip as though it had never even been there.

The water was icy cold and his muscles seized for a moment in shock at the vast temperature change. Shawn spluttered, coughing as he got a mouthful of briny sea water and, for a moment, his chest tightened in panic.

The water level in the trailer was rising rapidly, the ocean still pouring through the gaping hole. Warring currents made it impossible for Shawn to find his feet. His head popped above the surface as the trailer rocked back in time with the withdrawal of the sea and Shawn sucked in a whaling breath, flailing desperately for something to get a handhold on. A second later another wave washed through the window, pushing him under again. Fear burned from the base of his neck down to his sternum, prickling along the back of his neck; he was going to drown if he didn't get out _now._

He kicked, fighting his way back to the top, panting in huge wrenching gasps as soon as his head broke the water. Finally the push and pull of the ocean's movement evened out, the water inside breaking even with the water outside. It took a few hard strokes, but Shawn finally pulled free of the trailer out into the open ocean.

He distanced himself from the trailer as quickly as possible, afraid he might get smashed into it by a wave or even sucked back in by the currents created by the pocket of air inside. He swore again breathlessly, going weak with relief at the realization of just how nasty that situation had really been. And it wasn't over yet.

Treading water for a minute while he tried to temper the panic singing in his nerves and get his breathing back under control, Shawn estimated that he was about twenty-five yards from the beach. No big deal normally, but the water really was _freezing_ and fighting his way out of the trailer had taken a lot out of him. As he calmed down a little the sutured cuts on his neck and shoulder began burning in earnest, inflamed by the salt water. Everything ached.

The lights of the set at least provided a visible goal; he could even see people gathering on the beach, pointing out at the trailer.

Sucking in one last breath, Shawn gathered up his energy and started making his way back toward land.

It was like swimming through an ocean of knives, the cold cut so deeply. Muscle memory moved Shawn, the endless repetition of motion borne from hours racing Gus at the pool when they were kids saving him now as his brain numbed and conscious thought receded. By the time he reached the shallows he was so far in autopilot that it didn't register that he was safe until his hands began to brush the sandy bottom.

The people gathered on the beach gasped as he came stumbling out of the waves, shivering violently. Two figures broke away from the crowd, and a moment later four hands were grasping his arms and hauling him up onto his feet. Trembling legs refused to hold him up and they half-carried him out of the wavelets onto the dry sand.

"Shawn?!" Gus' voice came from somewhere off to the side, though Shawn wasn't totally sure which side. "SHAWN!"

"Gus," Shawn said, his voice coming out much weaker than he had intended. Fortunately, Gus was apparently close enough to hear.

"Shawn! I'll take him-I'll take him from here, thank you-"

Shawn hissed as Gus pulled his arm away from whoever it was propping him up, dragging it over his own shoulder. He was warm and sturdy and familiar though, and Shawn didn't protest. He needed Gus anyway.

"Dude," he breathed, his teeth chattering wildly as they staggered through the sand, "We n-need to go t-to the s-station."

~ * ~ 

Twenty minutes (and one argument about ruined seat upholstery) later, Shawn and Gus ascended the station steps. Shawn grimaced as his stiffening clothing chafed and itched uncomfortably. He was still shivering at a low level, big chills rippling down his back with every small breeze and every muscle in his body ached, his stitched up arm still burning uncomfortably.

"I can't believe this," Gus said, shaking his head.

Shawn rolled his eyes, working to keep his teeth from chattering. "Someone sabotaged the brakes, Gus, what's so hard to believe?"

"But _why?"_

"They were trying to kill me obviously. And they almost managed," he muttered, shivering. "We've gotta be getting close now."

Gus shook his head. "Shawn, I don't know. This is bad. You still don't have any proof and someone is trying to _kill_ you."

"Yeah," Shawn said, rubbing his arms. "It's not an ideal situation, is it? But _someone's_ getting edgy." He reached into his pocket to pull out the note he'd found in the trailer and groaned as he drew out clumps of soggy paper.

"What was that?"

Shawn sighed. "Proof that someone is planning to finish the job tomorrow."

Gus' eyebrows rose and he reached for the sodden paper, trying in vain to salvage something. "What are we going to do?" he asked when it was clear the note was beyond saving.

They paused in the archway leading to the bullpen, Shawn rubbing anxiously at his mouth. "Maybe we should come back when you know more," Gus suggested, forehead pursed.

Shawn growled in frustration and put his hands into his hair, grimacing at the natty feel of it. "Yeah, I-" His mouth pursed and he crossed his arms, hunching his shoulders. "I _guess."_

"You need a hot shower anyway," Gus said as they turned around. He gave Shawn a once over and added, "And a good night's sleep."

"Hey, guys!" Juliet's voice rang out from behind them. "Wow, you have great timing," she said as she met them beneath the archway.

Shawn fell into his role without hesitation. "The spirits are very punctual."

"Well, we got the-" She glanced up and stopped cold, staring at Shawn. "Why are you _wet?_ "

"I decided to go for a moonlight swim," Shawn said.

She frowned, her eyes taking a more careful perusal of him. "You look terrible."

"And you look spectacular, as usual. What have you got?" Shawn asked, resisting the urge to rub at his face again.

Juliet managed to gather her wits and held up the folder in her hands, handing it to Gus when he reached for it. "It turns out the make-up was poisoned. Something called PLM-causes massive hemorrhaging."

"Hemorrhoids?" Shawn echoed. "That's just cruel."

Juliet gave him a look. "Hemorrhage, Shawn. Bleeding."

"Oh," Shawn said absently. "I suppose that does make more sense."

"Have you got anything new for us?" Juliet asked.

"Make-up," Shawn murmured and then was abruptly struck by the image of Syd after the fire, glittering like a teenaged vampire and his eyes widened.

Syd checked Eliza's email.

Vern had emailed the unflattering photo of Eliza to that email.

Syd was obsessed with keeping Eliza happy and he seemed willing to do just about anything to make it happen.

And the killer was a complete idiot.

"Oh my god," Shawn said putting a hand to his forehead. " _Oh my god."_

// _Shawn nodded towards Gus but his attention had turned to the small group of extras to his left, who were speaking to each other in hushed voices._  
  
"...yeah, and my camera was gone! Like, I just got it for my birthday, it was seriously the best camera at Target, too. My boyfriend is so pissed off, he spent his whole entire paycheck last week on it."  
  
"Girl, that's so messed up, but yeah, mine is gone too. And I was talking to one of the other girls just before and she said that cute PA...you know, the really tall one? She said he was telling her that a bunch of other cameras, like the cast's cameras and stuff around the set, were going missing, too. I seriously should have just gotten one of those instant ones."  
  
The first girl shuddered at the statement. "Ugh, who even uses those anymore?"//

"Shawn? ...Shawn? What is it?"

"What? Uh-" Snapping out of it, Shawn realized both Juliet and Gus were staring at him, vaguely worried expressions on their faces.

"Shawn? Are you okay?" Juliet asked. "Did you have a vision?"

For a split-second, Shawn considered blurting out the entire string of revelations. Then he recalled how his first big conclusion and accusation had gone over. No, he had to be sure this time. He couldn't accuse Syd until he was absolutely positive. He had to get _proof_. He flashed a smile at Juliet. "No, sorry. That was just-something else."

Juliet nodded, though she didn't look totally convinced. "Okay." She glanced at Gus and then after a second's hesitation said, "So how's all this affecting the movie? Do you think they're going to be able to finish it?"

Shawn rolled his eyes, huffing out a weary sigh. "I can't believe it. You guys are completely insane, you know that, right? This movie is like _Waterworld_ except without the ‘microscopic budget' excuse."

"Have you even seen _Waterworld?_ " Juliet asked.

"Yes," Shawn said. "Of course I have. It's one of the worst films ever made. It's a cultural diversity requirement." He glanced at Gus. "Gus here watched it twice. He has a poster hidden in the back of his closet."

Gus gave a little laugh. "No, I don't," he told Juliet.

"Yeah, you do," Shawn said, fixing him with a stare. "It's on the back wall of your closet behind all of your clothes."

"Why were you in my closet?" Gus demanded, completely forgetting about arguing whether he did or did not have a _Waterworld_ poster hidden in it.

Shawn blinked at him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I told you to stay out of there, Shawn!"

"Why would I do that, Gus? You keep all of your dorkiest stuff back there."

"You know what? You can walk home," Gus said and turned and strode off toward the exit, his head held high.

Shawn leaned toward Juliet. "He doesn't mean it."

Juliet watched Gus go. "I don't know. It seems like he means it to me."

Shawn pursed his lips and called, "Gus?"

He received no reply.

"Gus! Wait for me!"

~ * ~ 

Fortunately after the events of the evening, Gus wasn't cruel enough to _actually_ make Shawn walk home.

So when he sank into the passenger's seat a few minutes after Gus, hissing and biting his tongue in response to his body's various and sundry protests, Gus asked, "So what was that about?"

"What was what about?" Shawn asked, slouching deep into the seat, his fingers rubbing at his eyesockets.

"That thing where you zoned out for almost a full minute and then said, 'Oh my god. _Oh my god_ '," Gus elaborated, starting up the car.

"Oh," Shawn said. "Right. That."

The motion of the car had nearly lulled him to sleep when Gus prompted gently, "Shawn."

"Uh...right," Shawn mumbled and forced his eyes open. "I'm pretty sure the killer is Syd."

Gus glanced over at him. "What changed?"

Shawn rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "The make-up. I saw Syd right after the murder, when the trailer exploded, covered in something all glittery. The make-up came back as having been poisoned. Syd's the one who answers all of Eliza's emails, she told me herself. So I'm betting he got that email with the bedhead picture-"

"Bedhead picture?"

"Um. Yeah. There was an email from Vern on Eliza's computer that had a picture of Eliza after what looked like a long night of partying. She must have gotten upset or something and Syd, being the suck-up that he is, decided to take care of it for her. Permanently."

"That seems kind of extreme."

"Yeah, but Syd isn't exactly the brightest bulb in the box. It fits, Gus." He grimaced. "Except for the whole 'trying to kill Eliza' part. Unless it was to try and throw us off? In which case, he's smarter than I'm giving him credit for." He ground a palm into one eye and Gus looked over at him again, eyebrows bent in concern.

"Are you all right? Maybe we should go to the hospital."

Shawn waved a hand at him and sat up a little straighter, trying to look less miserable than he really was. "No, I'm fine dude. I'm just tired. I just need some sleep and I'll be fine. I bet it was Syd stealing those cameras when we first got here. If we can just find those, I think we can convince Lassie and Jules."

"I don't know, maybe you should just stay home tomorrow, Shawn," Gus said, eyeing him like he was going to pass out any second.

He shook his head, the resolve cementing itself inside him. "No. Bad juju is going down tomorrow. I have to be there. I'll get some sleep and I'll be fine, you'll see."

~ * ~

But sleep eluded Shawn.

Even after a warm shower (his stitches were picky about temperatures), Shawn still felt like crap. His throat hurt from coughing up water, his freshly restitched wounds were still burning faintly after the dip in the ocean, he had at _least_ three new bruises, and he ached from swimming and shivering and, oh yeah, trying not to _drown._ Painkillers were only so effective. There was just too much of him that hurt in too many ways.

He spent at least three hours in bed, rolling this way and that, lying still when he managed to find a _less_ uncomfortable position only to move five minutes later when something started to ache or throb. He got out of bed around three a.m. and tried to watch a movie, but he was too miserable to focus on it. He took a new dose of painkillers and a half an hour later it felt like his head was filled with helium instead of brain matter, but he still hurt.

What. The. Hell.

By the time morning came, Shawn was ready to bang his head on the floor until he passed out if that was what needed to be done so he could get some sleep.

Unfortunately, it was not to be.

His cell phone rang at quarter past nine. "Hi, Gus," he rasped, exhausted, face pressed into his pillow.

"I just got a call from... What are you doing up?" Gus asked, his train of thought clearly having been derailed by the fact that Shawn was awake.

Shawn sighed. "I couldn't sleep."

"You didn't sleep at _all?_ " Gus said incredulously.

Shawn shrugged one shoulder only to immediately regret it. "I mighta gotten an hour or two. What's up?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"I was...I was calling to tell you that they pulled an all-nighter and got the set cleaned up. Our call is at at ten."

"Right," Shawn breathed into the pillow, closing his eyes.

Gus apparently wasn't finished though and plowed on, "Shawn, I don't know if you should come today. Especially if you didn't get any sleep last night. I can talk to them-"

"Nah," Shawn said, gritting his teeth as he pushed himself up. He waited until he could unclench his jaw and pry the grimace off of his face before continuing, "I have to be there today."

"I don't know, Shawn," Gus said, skepticism thick in his voice. "You've been lucky so far. That can't keep happening forever."

"It's been happening for three years now, Gus, you'd think by now you'd have a little faith." He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and had to pause to gather his energy.

Maybe he was pushing it a little, but the show had to go on, right?

~ * ~

"Amazing how in the course of eighteen hours I forgot how _totally annoying_ you are," Shawn grit, his hand clenching around a Styrofoam-contained smoothie.

Stuart looked down the end of his nose at him, clipboard held close to his chest. "Well I didn't forget how much of a jerk you are. You're going to have to stop clutching your arm like that and stand up straight if you think you're actually going to be in this scene."

Shawn's lips pinched and he shot a look at Gus that very clearly read: I am going to _strangle_ him.

Gus acknowledged the look and turned, holding a hand out to Stuart. "Okay, look. I get that you have to follow us around, I get that you have to watch Shawn and that he annoys the crap out of you. He annoys the crap out of a lot of people. One of those people tried to kill him last night. He should probably be at the hospital, or at the very least, at home resting. But instead he's here. So I would appreciate it if you would just take a step back and speak to us only if absolutely necessary. Thank you."

Stuart gaped at him, open-mouthed, as Gus put a hand to Shawn's shoulder and moved him a good four yards away. Shawn smirked at Gus, despite his weariness and said, "I think I'm flattered, Gus. I'm not totally positive, but I think I am."

"Don't be," Gus retorted. "If you were at home where you should be that wouldn't have even happened."

"I couldn't stay at home, Gus, as much as I would have liked to. We have a killer running loose and so far we've been pretty lucky. You know, except for the dead guy and all the times I got hurt and the helicopter incident and the trailer in the ocean and-"

"I was there, Shawn. I know what happened."

"Well then you know why we have to figure this out. It's crunch time and if I don't do the crunching someone else will. Probably on the one spot of my body that doesn't currently hurt."

"Then call Lassiter and Juliet, Shawn. You know who did it-"

"I knew who did it last time too and look how well THAT turned out."

"Shawn-"

"No, Gus. I have to do this myself."

Gus pressed his lips together and inhaled slowly through his nose. "Fine. You want to do this by yourself? Then I'll stop interfering with your investigation, Detective _Lassiter_."

"No, Gus! I didn't-" Shawn groaned. "Fine. You know what? I _will_ do it myself! I don't need you."

Gus ignored him and kept walking.

~ * ~ 

"I heard that they tried to get Boedinger for the armorer, but that he was already signed on for another project and..."

Lassiter watched an alien in a toga and a Roman soldier with an H&K MP5A2 submachine gun slung over his shoulder walk past and frowned.

"What the hell is this movie about?" he asked. He realized almost immediately that his partner wouldn't take that as rhetorical and cut off her blooming excitement with a curt, "Why the hell are we here again?"

She closed her mouth, composed her expression, and then said, "We are here because the mayor is putting pressure on Chief Vick to solve this case before the movie is canceled and all of the revenue it's bringing to the city is cut off."

"And _that's_ what we're going to focus on today, right, O'Hara?" he said and stared her down, willing her to agree.

She rolled her eyes which wasn't exactly the, ' _Yes, Carlton, whatever you say, Carlton_ ,' he'd been hoping for, but she raised her right hand and said, "I swear I'll focus on the case and not meaningless-if _fascinating-_ trivia about Eliza Carlisle's first big movie."

His eyes narrowed and her mouth curved into a mischievous smirk. "I'll try anyway," she amended.

"I'd have already shot anyone else," he grumbled.

"I know," she said with a smug smile.

"Let's just get this over with already," he muttered, jerking his jacket closed and buttoning it.

Juliet nodded and the slightly manic glow that had been in her eyes since they had arrived dimmed a little, replaced by her Serious Detective flintiness. Carlton felt a sharp pang in his chest and realized that he had _missed_ that look. Sweet justice, he was going soft.

"Shawn came by the station last night," Juliet continued. "That's one of the reasons I really thought we should come back and take another look around."

Lassiter swiped a cup of coffee out of the hands of one of the passing headset-wearing, jeans-clad kids, ignoring an indignant, "Hey!"

"Police," he shot back over his shoulder and then took a long drag out of the cup.

Juliet shot him an exasperated look. "You can't commandeer cups of coffee, Carlton."

"I wasn't commandeering it, O'Hara. Did you see that kid's pupils? Probable cause. I _confiscated_ the coffee to check for drugs."

She didn't look impressed. "By drinking it?"

He shrugged. "It's clean." Looking sideways at her, he lifted the cup in offering. "You want some?"

Juliet broke into a smile. "Yes, thank you." She took the cup and had a long drink before handing it back.

"So you still trust Spencer after that fiasco last week?"

"You didn't see him last night," Juliet said, shaking her head. "He was soaking wet and shivering. He smelled like the ocean. And then he had this vision when I told them the make-up was poisoned. He said it wasn't related to the case, but..."

"You don't believe him."

She shrugged. "Shawn doesn't hide his visions. Even the ridiculous ones."

"So you think he's gotten some new information, but he doesn't want to say anything because of last time." Out of the corner of his eye, Lassiter saw Eliza go by, dragging one of the headsets with her and he edged forward a little, blocking her from Juliet's view.

"Or maybe he was being threatened," Juliet continued, unawares. "The saboteur is supposedly targeting Eliza, but Shawn is the one who keeps winding up in the hospital."

Lassiter's eyebrows rose as he thought about it, remembering the explosion, the helicopter, the pillars, and now apparently something to do with the ocean. "That's good, O'Hara," he said thoughtfully. "Good work."

She beamed at him.

"So what are you thinking?" he asked. It felt good to have his rational-minded partner back. Maybe a little positive reinforcement would make her stay sane. Let her call the shots.

"We search the set again. Check everything out. Then we keep an eye on both Shawn and Eliza, study the people around them. Our suspect has to be working on the movie, so we should be able to come up with a list."

He was genuinely proud of her for that. It was a good, sound strategy.

"Let's get to work then."

~ * ~

In retrospect, Shawn was discovering that this really hadn't been his best idea, imminent doom or not.

His head was throbbing along with the stitches in his shoulder, which were also burning. He felt a little bit sick, too, and now to top it all off, he had the sniffles. Gus had been right, as usual, and he had ignored him. _Again._

"Ugghh," he groaned, head dropping into his hands as he sat down on a gnarled piece of driftwood that was practically a whole tree. He dug the tips of his fingers into the corners of his eye sockets, pinching his brown until he could see spots in red and white. Maybe he should find Gus. Apologize and then just-go home.

"Hey, Shawn, there you are."

He looked up to see Juliet giving him a long look.

"I know how you feel about the toga, Jules, but really. You don't have to stare." The joke fell flat. Juliet didn't roll her eyes, so clearly something was missing in his delivery.

Her eyes moved to his face and she frowned. "Are you okay?"

Shawn considered standing up and doing his best to ignore the myriad of discomforts he was suffering, but he didn't want to. He had been doing that all week and he just didn't want to. So he said honestly, "No. I feel like crap."

Her face folded with concern and she sat down beside him. "What are you doing here if you feel like this?"

Shawn thought about it and then admitted wearily, "I'm getting strong vibes that the killer is going to try to finish what he started today."

She perked up at that, her sympathy for his pain shifting to the background as the cop in her came forward.

"Do you have anything specific? Should we evacuate?"

Shawn reached to scrub a hand over his face then remembered he'd already been made up for the next scene and dropped the appendage with a sigh. "I don't know." He shook his head. "No, I don't have anything specific. Just... this intense feeling of foreboding and-and the certainty that the killer is going to do something that _won't_ fail."

"Then we should evacuate," Juliet said resolutely.

For a moment Shawn envied her that certainty, that academy-ingrained trust in one's decisions once they were made. Even when they were wrong.

"No, that's not going to work."

"No, it will. Shawn, they can't kill anyone if there's no one here to kill."

"Except if there's no one here to kill, they won't even try."

"So we get Eliza out of here. She's the target, right?"

Shawn shook his head. "No. Yes. I mean-"

He stood, wincing at the pain it caused, but needing to vent his frustration _somehow_. "I don't know!" Then, quieter, "I don't know, Jules. I just..."

His burst of energy fizzled out and he plunked down next to her again, running his hands through his hair. He didn't care if it would have to be redone. It wouldn't matter anyway if the killer succeeded, right?

Silence stretched as Shawn tried to figure out a way out of this mess.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this single-handedly, you know, Shawn."

He turned to look at her and smiled crookedly. "You want to share my visions, Jules?"

Her hand tightened briefly and she smiled back. "I would if I could, Shawn."

That sincere statement did more to lift his spirits than he would have thought it could. "Thanks, Jules."

She shrugged, looking just a little embarrassed, then pulled back her hand and grabbed her purse. She dug into it and said, "Since I can't help with your visions, I'll have to do something else."

He'd looked down and was trying to resist the urge to dig his fingers into his eyes against his headache.

"We'll start with this," she said, the sound of pills rattling around in a small container drawing his attention upward to where she was doling out two ibuprofen.

He wished they were something a lot stronger as he dry swallowed them, but he needed to think still so they'd have to do for now.

"And then ask if there is anything else you know about the killer from your visions that might help. No matter how tiny it is. Anything recent that the spirits have shared with you..." she trailed off, eyebrows rising in question.

He grimaced and forced himself to concentrate, moving his fingers to his temples. Not for effect, though that was a bonus. Mostly because fixing his makeup there would be less painful than on the rest of his face.

What could he tell her? God, he was so tempted to tell her everything and let her figure it out. Then he could go home and sleep until forever or until he stopped hurting. Whichever came first.

Juliet seemed to be especially perceptive today; based on her expression she knew there was something.

Ah screw it. Proof or not, he _knew_ he was right this time.

"Syd is the killer."

Juliet's brow furrowed. "Syd, Eliza Carlisle's PA?"

"Yeah. He's got all four parts of the Murder's Rhombus." He used his hands to outline a shape that was meant to be a rhomboid, but looked more like a drunken triangle.

"The Murder's Rhombus?"

"The four things every good killer has to have: Opportunity, means, motive, and inherent creepiness," he explained.

Juliet frowned. "Why a rhombus?"

"It's more fun to say than rectangle or square?"

She smiled in amusement, but just said. "Okay. And Syd has all of these?"

Shawn counted them off on his fingers. "Opportunity: he's a PA and nobody ever pays attention to them so they get to go everywhere on set; means: PAs are supposed to be able to work magic to make their star or whoever happy; inherent creepiness: you've seen the guy, right?"

"I haven't, but I'll take your word for it." She frowned. "But what's his motive? Why would he want to kill Eliza?"

Shawn shook his head, waving his extended fingers. "He doesn't. He's been trying to protect her." 

Her frown dug in further. "I don't understand. Who is he protecting her from? And how can he be protecting her by making her a target?"

"She's not the...she...he's trying to..." Shawn faltered, brow furrowing.

"Shawn," Juliet said, slowly straightening up, "If Syd is the killer, and he's not trying to kill Eliza, but protect her-"

There was a pause as they both realized the implications and then:

" _Oh my god_ ," they said as one.

Juliet stood, catching Shawn's sleeve in her hand. "Shawn, we have to get you out of here. _Now_."

"It wasn't just the last few times!" Shawn exclaimed, indignant. "He was trying to kill me the whole time! Son of a-"

" _Shawn_ -"

Juliet's efforts to bring him to his feet were expedited by Stuart who appeared from seemingly nowhere and grabbed hold of Shawn's other arm, paying no mind to Shawn's yelp of pain as he dragged him to his feet. "Come on, you have to be on set in ten minutes for the destruction of the temple and the escape of the Empress! Move move move!"

"OW-dude!" Shawn allowed himself to be pulled along, merely to ease up the pressure on his arm. "Dude, Stewie! Let me go!"

Juliet followed along beside them at a rapid clip, hands cutting sharp gestures through the air. "Excuse me, Stewie-"

"STUART!"

She grit her teeth, eyes darting around as they skirted around a trio of grips near a truck. " _Stuart_. I can't allow you to take Shawn onto the set. We have reason to believe that he-"

"I don't care if he is on the FBI's Most Wanted List! Gabe wants him on the set right now and that is where he's going to be!" He continued to pull with one hand, keying the radio with the other hand to call for security. "You can have him all to yourself when we've wrapped for the day, okay, lady?"

"Lady?" Juliet demanded. "I am a detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department and- Hey! Get your hands off of me!"

Shawn heard her trying to explain who she was to security, but his view of her was blocked as they headed into the chaotic cluster of people and equipment surrounding their current set.

"LAST LOOKS!" someone yelled as they entered the crush of bodies and then every PA on set was repeating it.

"Coming through!" Stuart yelled when their way was blocked. A few heads turned and, after seeing Shawn was in costume, cleared the path for them to get through.

Gabe was talking with Samantha, but he turned just in time to notice Shawn's late entrance. "What is this?!" he demanded. "You missed the first fifty calls to get on set and in place?" An angry finger jabbed in Shawn's face. "You're not vital to this movie! And you!" he turned his rant on Stuart and Shawn took the opportunity to escape, looking around until he spotted Gus next to Eliza's throne where he was supposed to be-though the actress herself was a few feet away doing some sort of calming exercise or something.

Good. She probably wasn't going to be thrilled to learn her biggest fan/PA was a killer. On the plus side, he wasn't trying to kill _her_ , so maybe that would help soften the blow.

Shawn darted across the set and Gus broke his rigid attention and stare into the middle distance to glare at him.

"Shawn!"he hissed. "Where have you _been_?"

"With Jules. We figured it out!"

"QUIET ON SET!" the first AD yelled and the PAs echoed it, the actors scattered around set going still as they waited for the right cue. "ROLL SOUND!"

Gus pushed Shawn into his spot and asked, "Juliet's here?"

"ROLL CAMERA!"

"She was. Stewie called security on her, but don't worry. She'll be back. Lassie's probably around here too, which is good because _I figured it out!_ " He tried to discreetly jump up and down until the pain flared up and skittered across his nerves and he almost doubled over. "Owowow. Bad idea. Don't let me do that again."

"Shawn!" Gus hissed as he got a grip on Shawn's arm and helped him stand a little taller, but didn't let go.

"Aaaaaaand ACTION!"

The doors of the temple were thrown wide and Antonius swept in. "My Empress, the invaders have arrived!"

"Figured out _what_?" Gus asked out of the side of his mouth.

"Syd is the killer,"Shawn panted as he tried to stay upright, really regretting letting the excitement of solving the case overwhelm him just now.

"Then let the archers loose their rain of death!" Eliza commanded. "Let these bastards know that we are Rome and we will not be defeated!"

"We already _knew_ that, Shawn." Gus' eyes darted to Eliza and then the cluster of chairs around the director.

"Okay, yeah. But what we _didn't_ know, is that he's trying to kill _me!"_

"Noble defenders of Rome, shore up your courage! Jupiter fights on our side! May his mighty wrath separate their unholy souls from their ugly visages!"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Yes, we did. You've been saying that since day one practically."

Shawn frowned and straightened fully. "Gus, don't be Tom Cruise post-Scientology. I solved the case and as soon as we can find Lassie and Juliet to arrest Syd, I can go _home_ and take good painkillers and _sleep,_ " Shawn said, then pumped a fist in victory, forgetting they were filming.

" _CUUUUUT!_ "

Everyone stopped and looked at Gabe, then followed his furious glare to Shawn who still had his hand up in the air.

"What the hell are you doing, you imbecile?! Put your hand down! You're supposed to cheer at the _end_ of her damn speech, not smack dab in the middle!"

Shawn grinned sheepishly and lowered the limb in question, wincing when it pulled on his stitches.

"Sorry! I was just so... inspired by her speech." He laughed and carefully pumped his fist again. "Go Rome! Kick those aliens in the.. uh..." He dropped his arm and coughed.

Gabe glared for a second longer, then shook his head. "Take it from 'May his mighty wrath separate their unholy souls from their ugly visages'."

Eliza nodded and moved back to her mark, retaking her pose.

"ACTION!"

"May his mighty wrath separate their unholy souls from their ugly visages!"

"I still don't know what we figured out," Gus said quietly.

"We figured out that Syd's been trying to kill me, but that he's _not_ trying to kill Eliza."

Gus frowned. "Wait, he's not?"

"No! He killed Vern to protect her! Why would he try to kill her?"

Gus' mouth opened and closed. "So all the accidents after Vern-"

"Were meant for me," Shawn confirmed. "Syd just has horrible timing and kept almost killing Eliza-"

"Oh my GOD!" Gus yelled and grabbed Shawn, yanking him back and almost taking him to the ground, a plan Shawn's battered body did not agree with.

Everyone looked at Gus, but when the sound of automatic gunfire came a moment later, the attention shifted to the beach left of the set where two figures could be seen wrestling for control of one of the machine guns.

A few screams and some general panic ensued as a goodly chunk of the crowd found reasons to stop hanging around the active set. One of the figures-with familiar blonde hair pulled back from her face-straddled the other and secured the downed figure's hands with cuffs.

Lassiter appeared a half second later, running toward them. "O'Hara?!" he called.

"I got him," she said, standing with her partner's help and then pulling her arrestee to his feet.

"Syd?" one of the PAs said in shock when the criminal's face was visible.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?! SPENCER!"

Shawn jumped, then looked at Gabe's reddened face. His eyes were briefly drawn to the pulsing vein visible even from this distance, then he swallowed and pulled away from Gus.

Lassie and Juliet arrived at the edge of the set as Shawn announced, "Syd is the one that killed Vern Woo and since then, he's been trying to kill me."

More than one someone gasped and several jaws dropped.

Shawn didn't realize he was going into his 'psychic presentation' mode until the pain from bringing his hand up to his temple reminded him that moving his arm was a _bad thing_.

He left it there since moving it back down wouldn't be much more fun and turned on Syd.

"You _knew_ he had that picture of Eliza, the one with the horrible bedhead and the pre-makeup face that not even she could make cute. He threatened to show EVERYONE that picture and, well, you just couldn't have _that_. Her carefully crafted public image would be ruined! So you started by stealing everyone's cameras to try and find the original."

// _Shawn nodded towards Gus but his attention had turned to the small group of extras to his left, who were speaking to each other in hushed voices.  
  
__"..._ _yeah, and my camera was gone! Like, I just got it for my birthday, it was seriously the best camera at Target, too. My boyfriend is so pissed off, he spent his whole entire paycheck last week on it._ _"_ _  
  
__"_ _Girl, that_ _'_ _s so messed up, but yeah, mine is gone too. And I was talking to one of the other girls just before and she said that cute PA_ _..._ _you know, the really tall one? She said he was telling her that a bunch of other cameras, like the cast's cameras and stuff around the set, were going missing, too. I seriously should have just gotten one of those instant ones._ _"_ _  
  
The first girl shuddered at the statement. __"_ _Ugh, who even uses those anymore?_ _"_ //

"But you couldn't! So many cameras and so many pictures, but _none_ of them were the incriminating horror that was proof of Eliza's worst Bad Hair Day _ever_. So you had to do something a little more drastic. AND SO YOU _KILLED_ HIM," Shawn declared.

// _"Oh hell," one of them muttered. He rushed to the controls and lowered the platform to the ground, foot tapping impatiently. The other grip started shouting into his microphone as the body of Vern Woo, the makeup artist, sank into view. Shawn turned away from the blood seeping from Vern's head just in time to catch Gus gagging his bagel up into a bush._ //

"AND THEN, YOU TRIED TO KILL _ME_!" he added.

// _Shawn was scrolling down to get a look at the message below the image when something made a quiet thunk against the door of the trailer. He glanced up, frowning. What the...?_  
  
He got to his feet, moving to the door and stopped, frown deepening even further when he heard another noise, this time from beneath the trailer. "What the hell?" He twisted the door handle and pushed, but the door didn't budge. He froze.//

"Despite how it looked, Eliza was never the intended victim." He laughed a little, shaking his head. "No, no, you would never try to kill her! No, you were far too _devoted_ to her for that!" He mimed cracking a whip-complete with sound effects.

// _"Not while I'm around!" With a swish of her long locks, Eliza Carlisle turned her nose up and stomped off in the direction of her trailer, voices calling out and a young man with a headset running after her as he yelled her name._ //

// _Shawn saw the PA finally break from the producer_ _'_ _s grasp and run over, dropping to his knees as he pushed Shawn out of the way._

_"Eliza! Miss Carlisle! Oh God, are you alright?!" he whined, terror clearly written on his face. He was taller than Shawn, a muscular build with dark brown hair. His brown eyes darted back and forth over the actress, checking her for injury._ //

"You would do anything for her," Shawn said.

More than a few people were looking between Syd and Shawn and Eliza as the pieces Shawn was laying down began to match the picture on the box he'd already given them.

"I-" Syd tried to protest, desperation growing on his face and in his voice. "I didn't- I wasn't-"

// _"Who wouldn_ _'_ _t?" Shawn mumbled, watching as one of the other PA_ _'_ _s grabbed her arm and began talking into her ear. It seemed to calm the actress down._ //

// _Behind them, Shawn could hear Syd fretting over Eliza. "...I'm so sorry, Miss Carlisle. I should have been here. Are you all right?"_ //

"I was just-" He looked to Eliza. She glared back.

"You even went so far as to set up a series of fatal accidents to try and kill for her."

// _"Man, what the heck," Drew interrupted, stepping away from the duo. "SYD! Get back down to the corner, you_ _'_ _re supposed to be blocking pedestrian traffic from wandering in to the scene!"  
  
Shawn turned just in time to see Syd scamper off down the hill towards the set.  
  
"Stupid jerk. Thinks he has special privileges because he_ _'_ _s seeing Eliza," Drew grumbled, his face a little miniature storm cloud._ //

"You just _suck_ at that the way you suck at everything else!"

// _But Shawn was no longer paying attention to the adorable producer standing before him. Instead, his focus shifted to one of the props set up behind the leading lady. One of the big, fat, wretchedly "aged" pillars was swaying precariously, the sandbags meant to be holding it steady no longer piled up at the base. Shawn knew they had been there when they passed by a few moments ago, he remembered seeing them. But now they were gone and the rope holding the pillar back pulled taut_ _-_ _Eliza and her PA entourage standing directly beneath it._

_The rope began to fray around the middle, rapidly shredding apart under the strain._ //

// _His eyes watered, leaking onto his cheeks, and he could practically feel the ends of his hair singeing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a hairspray can grow to twice its size and he turned away, covering Eliza's head with his own body, just before it burst. Small bits of hot metal rained down on them and he flinched as he felt one shard hit him in the back of the neck. The inferno roared and crackled, deafening him, punctuated by the loud bangs of exploding cans of hairspray._ //

"You couldn't even manage to break in and poison the makeup correctly!"

Juliet's eyes widened as understanding dawned on her, her gaze going to Syd as Lassiter looked between them both.

// _It was a tox report, and apparently the make-up in the trailer had been tampered with. His eyebrows rose and he rocked back on his heels again, cogs whirring in his brain._ //

// _"I'm all right," he said, but spotted Syd pushing his way through the crowd, chest and hands iridescent and sparkling and he blinked, scrubbing his dry eyes, and wondered if he was hallucinating now. "Dude, what is this, Twilight?" he rasped and waved a hand in Syd's direction. "Eliza's PA is sparkly."_ //

"She- Eliza! Please!" he begged her.

Shawn opened his mouth to lay down the final damning evidence when he glanced at Eliza to see her reaction and stopped.

She was glaring back, but there was something that wasn't...

Her gaze shifted to him, the glare not waning-if anything, it grew colder and harder.

"Eliza?" Shawn said, confusion lacing his tone. "You..." He had half a second to let the shock of this last revelation hit him before her body did, a shrill scream ripping from her throat as they stumbled back toward the balcony overlooking the 'battleground'. It didn't even slow them down as they plowed through it and over the edge, disappearing from sight.

~ * ~

"Shawn!" Juliet's cry of alarm overlapped Gus' own terror-stricken exclamation. She abandoned the handcuffed Syd, trusting that Lassiter would take care of him, and raced to Gus' side, staring over the ruined Styrofoam balcony railing to see, much to her relief, that Shawn and Eliza had landed on an enormous cushion.

Shawn was flailing around beneath the actress as she shrieked obscenities at him, her hands wrapped around his throat.

"Oh, thank God," Gus said.

"You can say that again," Juliet breathed.

Below, Shawn spotted them looking down at him and he yelled, "A little help here?! She is-guhkk!"

Juliet looked at Gus. "We should get down there."

Gus gave her one decisive nod in return. "Yeah."

They chose to take the stairs set up just behind one of the pillars and Juliet called, "Hang on, Shawn!" as they ran toward the cushion.

Gus immediately leapt up to join Shawn and the crazed actress, and she howled at him as he grabbed at her, trying to free Shawn, who was gasping and whimpering as Eliza jabbed him with her knees and elbows, unintentionally.

As soon as they had tumbled close enough, Juliet grabbed Eliza's arm and dragged her off of the cushion, wincing as Shawn was pulled along, tumbling to the ground with a sharp yelp.

"You're under arrest!" Juliet panted, reaching around for Eliza's still clawing hand.

Lassiter appeared out of nowhere, brandishing his handcuffs for her, Syd clutched by the elbow in his left hand.

"Thanks," she said breathlessly and snapped the cuffs around Eliza's wrists as she let out an infuriated shriek, resorting to kicking sand at Shawn.

"WHY WOULDN'T YOU JUST _DIE!_ "

"Maybe...because your hitman-is an idiot?" Shawn panted, hissing as Gus helped him to his feet, one hand clutching at his arm.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Spencer?" Lassiter demanded. "I told you to get proof, not to get yourself killed!"

"Thanks for the constructive criticism. I'll try to work on that, Lassie," Shawn said, leaning into Gus' shoulder. He was still breathing hard, slight tremors rippling through his limbs.

Juliet looked over at Gus and said pointedly, "He needs to go home. And stay there."

"Oh, trust me. He won't be going anywhere," Gus agreed.

Shawn just whimpered.

The six of them headed back up the stairs to the main stage, Syd apologizing profusely to Eliza, getting snottier and snottier with every passing apology and Eliza still ranting at the top of her lungs. The crowd of cast and crew stared as they emerged on the set again and Lassiter scowled, shifting uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"Does this look like a television show? Quit your gawking!"

"YOU!" Gabe howled, pushing his way out from several members of the crowd, his face red and one chubby finger wagging at Shawn. "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Shawn's head wobbled slightly. "I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation."

"Oh, god," Gabe moaned, the anger leaking out of him, only to be replaced by despair. "Now what are we going to do? Our lead actress is being...being..."

He faltered as he laid eyes on Juliet and his eyes bounced over to Eliza's face only to ping pong back and forth between the two for a good ten seconds. "You," he said, tone marveling.

Juliet's eyebrows rose, her hand moving to point at her chest. "Who? Me?"

"Yessssss," Gabe said, moving forward and starting to circle her, staring avidly at her in such a way that a hot blush began to creep up her cheeks.

"What?" she asked, embarrassed. "What's the matter?"

"I'm in pain back here, remember?" Shawn said, but he was ignored.

"The matter? Darling, there's nothing the matter. Nothing at all! You, you're _perfect!_ " Gabe exclaimed. "Same size, same hair color-much more beautiful."

"You _bastard!_ " Eliza shrieked at him.

"Perfect for what exactly?" Juliet asked.

"The part of Constantine of course!" Gabe exclaimed, waving his hands wildly. "You'd make a perfect replacement!"

"What?" Juliet stared at him, her expression going blank with shock.

"SAMANTHA!" Gabe began snapping his fingers, twisting around as he looked for the producer. "SAM!"

"Yes, I'm here, what is it?" Samantha said, slipping out from the crowd.

Gabe waved a finger at Juliet. "This girl-can we have her? Eliza's contract is voided by the arrest, so we can have her, right?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Lassiter demanded.

"Seriously," Shawn whined. "Has the whole world gone crazy? No offense, Jules."

"If she's interested, I don't see why not," Sam said wearily, waving a hand. "The whole thing's already a disaster. It can't get any worse."

"Him too," Gabe said, pointing at Lassiter. "I mean, my God. Look at that bone structure."

Lassiter's scowl softened, replaced by an almost pleased bewilderment. "You want...me to be in your movie?"

"We'll rewrite the script! The hero can be another Roman-it never made sense that Constantine fell in love with an alien anyway, they have nothing in common," he muttered.

"I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU THAT ALL ALONG!" Eliza cried.

Juliet and Lassiter exchanged a look of glee and then realized almost simultaneously, "Wait. _Lovers?_ "

~ * ~

"Are you ready to see this, Gus?" Shawn asked as he and Gus strode up the little path towards the back door of his father's house, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a folded-up square of paper. "It is going to blow your _mind_. I know it blew mine."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Are you going to show it to me or what? I'm losing interest."

Shawn flicked the paper open with his wrist and then pulled it flat, pinkies held delicately out to the sides. "Check iiiiiiit."

Gus glanced out of it and then snatched it out of Shawn's hand. "Oh my god. _Oh my god!_ Is that-"

"It totally is!" Shawn said and pumped his fist.

"Damn," Gus said, his eyebrows rising as he continued looking at the image. "She looks hot." It was a mock-up of the new promo poster for _It Came From Space to Conquer Rome_. And the primary focal point was a full-body image of Juliet in a flashy gold crown and a long, white toga dress. There was a partial image of the spaceship behind her at the top, Lassiter, Antonio and three of the aliens arced along the bottom right corner.

"Right?!" Shawn exclaimed and trotted up the porch steps, yanked open the screen door, and called, "Dad! We're here! Are you finally going to tell me what you've been-"

He stopped in his tracks-literally and figuratively-halfway through the door as he was assaulted with the most delicious barrage of scents he could ever remember smelling wafting out of his father's kitchen.

Henry appeared from behind the freezer door, a grin lighting up his face. "Oh, good, you're finally here. I accounted for the fact that you'd be approximately fifteen minutes late, so everything should be ready any minute."

Only half drawn out of his stupor, Shawn replied distractedly, "It hurts that you would make assumptions like that so confidently, Dad."

"Come in, come in, Gus," Henry said, ushering them in with a flap of his elbow, both hands occupied.

"Well he was right, wasn't he?" Gus said, eyeing the food on the table with a look akin to that of a lioness about to pounce.

"That's entirely aside from the point," Shawn murmured, stealthily slinking one hand toward a plate of potato wedges on the counter.

"Ah!" Henry cried, smacking him across the back of the hand with a spatula. "Not yet, Shawn!"

"OW! What the hell, Dad?! What is with you and Gus and the abuse over food? This has got to stop!" he said, clutching his wounded hand to his chest and stroking the reddened skin tentatively with the other.

"Maybe if you would keep your hands to yourself it would, Shawn," Gus replied, glancing at the dishes on the counter. "Do you need any help, Mr. Spencer?"

"No, no," Henry said, waving him off with the spatula. "I can get it. This is for you. You boys go sit down at the table."

Gus smiled and, like the suck-up he had always been, said, "Sure, Mr. Spencer," and moved to take a spot at the table. Shawn rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter next to where Henry was carefully laying out perfectly home-fried chicken on a dish.

"These chicken wings are as big as my face, Dad," he said. "The green beans too! Did the Jolly Green Giant start a farm or what?"

Sparing an exasperated glance for his son, he replied, "I looked long and hard for these, Shawn. I wanted to do something nice."

A wry smile flickered across Shawn's face. "So this is what you were up to all last week?" he asked, voice finally serious.

Henry nodded, focused on the chicken. "Yes, Shawn. This is what I was 'up to'. I took a few cooking classes so I could make a nice congratulatory dinner. Do you have a problem with that?"

"You ignored my calls all week so you could make us a nice dinner," Shawn summed up, disbelief creeping into the words.

Henry rolled his eyes, setting down the spatula with more force than was necessary. "Yes, Shawn! I wanted it to be a _surprise_. Here," he said, shoving the platter of chicken into his hands. "Take this to the table."

Shawn took it and raised his voice just slightly to call over his shoulder, "Thanks, Dad."

~ * ~

There were a few minutes of quiet but for the clinking of silverware after Henry had finally called open season on the meal. When the initial feeding frenzy had finally wound down, Henry asked through a mouthful of chicken and beer, "So how'd everything at that movie go? Did you figure out who was sabotaging the place?"

"You _were_ listening to my messages!" Shawn exclaimed, pointing a fork at him triumphantly.

Henry rolled his eyes. "That or I was, you know, reading the newspapers."

"If you were reading the newspapers you already _know_ how the case turned out, you don't have to ask," Shawn countered.

Henry shrugged and said, "Whatever. Maybe I want to hear it from you."

Gus cut in before the argument could get any further out of hand. "Well, as it turned out, it was the actress who planned the whole thing, but her _boyfriend_ who committed all of the sabotage and murder."

The older man's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "Oh, so it was one of those lovesick, I'd-do-anything-for-you things then."

"Exactly," Shawn interrupted, stealing the story back. "Turns out he was one of the crewmen for the movie."

Waggling his fork at the two of them, Henry asked, "So why did they do it? Sabotage the movie. Was it some kind of advertising ploy?"

"Even better," Shawn said. "The entire thing was just a set-up to kill the make-up artist, who'd gotten a hold of some unsavory pictures of our girl. Career, image-ruining pictures."

"Oh," Henry said, "Clever. So they arrested her."

"Of course," Shawn said agreeably, scooping more green beans onto his plate. "There was this brilliant on-camera reveal-probably my best ever-and Lassie and Jules arrested both of them. This was all after the chick tried to kill me again in a fit of my-life-is-going-down-the-toilet-before-my-eyes rage and Jules pulled off this totally kickass rescue."

"Jesus, Shawn," Henry said, back stiffening. "It wasn't bad enough that you nearly got yourself blown up, or that you nearly got mauled by a tiny helicopter, or nearly got _crushed_ _to death_ , but you accused the crazy lady while she still had the opportunity to come at you? Do you have no self-preservation instinct?"

"Clearly, I do not, Dad," Shawn said and smirked, leaning back in his chair. "But I do have a mock-up of the movie's new poster. Bam." He held it out for Henry to see.

It was pushed to the side. "Feet on the floor, Shawn. And are you out of your mind?" he demanded.

Shawn rolled his eyes and let the chair fall back onto four legs with a loud _clunk. "_ It wasn't like I _knew_ it was them, Dad. I was just doing my job."

"He always takes nearly getting killed as a good sign," Gus interjected helpfully. "Says it means we're getting close."

"Shawn!" Henry barked incredulously.

"Oh, great, thanks for that Gus," Shawn said, shooting him a dirty look. "Dad, relax, would you? It wasn't like they were trying to shoot us or something. They just tried to set us on fire. And crush us. And maybe hit us with a golf cart once. They were really bad at it too, let me tell you. And we didn't die. So it worked out, right?"

"Actually," Gus said, "Syd did try to-" Shawn cut him off with a kick to the shin. "OW! Shawn!" A short glaring match ensued until Henry broke it up.

"Shawn," he growled. "You have got to be more careful. You're not always going to be dealing with incompetent killers."

"I appreciate your concern, Dad, but Gus and I are going to be fine," Shawn said, giving Gus a significant look. Gus' return smile was weak at best and Shawn frowned faintly.

Henry took a swallow from his beer bottle and muttered, "Maybe Gus will be. You'll be lucky if _I_ don't kill you."

"Do you hear this Gus?" Shawn said, gesturing with the bottle. "My own father, threatening to kill me."

"I might help him," Gus said darkly and Shawn rolled his eyes.

"You both worry too much."

"There's no such thing as worrying too much when it comes to you, Shawn," Gus said, glancing at his watch. "And now I've got to get going." Folding his napkin and pushing back his chair, he nodded politely at Henry and said, "Thank you for dinner, Mr. Spencer. It was delicious."

Henry rose with him and Shawn's body language sagged, his arms falling. "Aw, come on Gus! Where do you have to go at seven-thirty at night? We haven't even had dessert!"

Toeing the door of the fridge shut with his foot, Henry handed Gus a Tupperware container. "Pie. I figured my idiot son would hold you up long enough that you couldn't stay for it."

Taking the container, Gus smiled. "Thanks, Mr. Spencer. I really appreciate everything you've done. Really."

Henry pulled him into a quick, manly two-pat hug and Shawn stared at the pair of them as though they had each grown three extra heads. "Dude, what is with you guys? You're acting like Gus is never coming over again, Dad."

When his dad just looked at him, chin tilting down toward his chest and his hands sliding into his pockets, Shawn started to get a bad feeling.

Gus took a deep breath and said, "I'm leaving, Shawn."

Shawn's heart fluttered in a painful kind of way, but he heaved a sigh and pushing himself to his feet. He was wrong. He had to be. "Okay, okay, see you tomorrow then, Party Pooper."

But Gus shook his head. "No, Shawn, I'm leaving. I'm going to the airport."

The sinking feeling in Shawn's gut grew worse.

He stared at Gus blankly for a moment and then burst, just a little desperately, "Dude, you're going on a trip and you didn't even tell me? That's so-"

"Shawn," Gus cut him off firmly. "No. I took the job in New England. My flight's in two hours." Outside, a horn blew and he took a deep breath. "That's my taxi."

Shawn continued to gawk at him, mouth working guppy-like as he trailed after Gus towards the door. "What do you mean you took the job?" he said, chasing after him down the porch steps.

"I mean exactly what I said, Shawn. I took the job. It's a good opportunity-a great one," he said, pulling two suitcases out of the trunk of the Echo and waving a hand at the taxi.

Gaping at the suitcases, Shawn followed him to the curb. "Why? Why are you going? I thought-"

Gus thanked the taxi driver as he took the suitcases, loading them into the trunk, and turned to his friend. "This isn't about you, Shawn. This is the best thing for me. I can make a real career there and get a huge promotion. It's a big deal. I can't _not_ take this offer."

Shawn floundered, a lost expression on his face. "But...but Gus. You... I need you."

Turning back from the open door of the taxi, Gus flashed him a little smile and said, "You can handle it, Shawn." He slid inside, directing the driver to the Santa Barbara airport and shut the door behind him.

Standing alone on the curb, Shawn watched as his best friend drove away.


End file.
